Ivory Tower
by Burc'ya Ordo
Summary: In the closing decades of the Gilded Age, New York is a dangerous place to live. Gangsters are enough to frighten mortal society, but what happens when something beyond the ordinary starts preying on them? Based on a Dresden Files RPG adventure. Complete.
1. Prologue: A Noble Experiment Gone Sour

Total abstinence is so excellent a thing that it cannot be carried to too great an extent. In my passion for it I even carry it so far as to totally abstain from total abstinence itself.  
>- Mark Twain, autograph inscription in album to Mrs. Rutherford B. Hayes<em> ,<em> June 11, 1881

Ivory Tower

Prologue: A Noble Experiment Gone Sour

The alley was dark and cold, as most alleys are wont to be on a September evening in New York City. Unlike nearby alleyways, however, this one was clean, clear, and had music drifting through. A single door broke the monotony of brick and mortar, and it was through this door that the music emerged, the tones of a well-played saxophone drifting and dancing through the moonlit alley.

The clicking of heels quickly dominated the passageway as a well-dressed couple weaved unsteadily down towards the heavy door. They chatted and laughed quietly until they arrived at the door, which they stopped before. The man straightened his jacket and put on a serious face, causing the young lady accompanying him to break down in a fit of giggles. Smiling, he knocked on the steel-and-oaken door once, paused a moment, and then knocked three more times.

A slot in the door opened up, and twin brown eyes peered suspiciously out into the alley. Looking first to the man, then to his still-giggling companion, the eyes narrowed for a moment before widening in recognition. The door opened, and a booming voice announced, "Welcome back to the Ivory Tower, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald."

The shady alley was briefly awash with both brilliant light and the sounds of a grand party. The couple slid past the massive man in charge of the door, exchanging greetings as they passed. A short cheer went up as the famous writer and his wife quickly took their place as the life of the party.

Hours passed with the clinking of glasses and the exchange of good stories and good drink. One particular guest, a seedy-looking man in a brown suit, continuously tried to attract the interest of the head waitress. When he reached out and grabbed her arm in an attempt to make her pay attention, the doorman appeared out of nowhere to hoist him by the scruff of his neck. Walking the rowdy guest along the rapidly-clearing floor, the ambulatory mountain opened the door and unceremoniously chucked the miscreant into the alleyway.

"Third time making trouble this week, Mr. Sayre." rumbled the doorman. His eyes took in the entire alley as he stepped back and slowly closed the door. "I'm sorry, but you're not welcome in the Tower for the rest of the month."

Charlie Sayre straightened his brown suit and jelly-legged his way down the shadowy alleyway, muttering about the unfairness of the world. He gestured wildly to himself as he walked from alley to alley, seeming to argue with no one. When he finally lost the argument, he glanced up to find himself totally lost. Looking around wildly, he saw nothing but warehouses as far as his bleary eyes could see.

"Well, Chuck, a fine mess you've landed yourse-" he cut himself off as he caught the sound of more voices on the wind. Edging closer toward those voices, he peered around a corner to a sickening sight.

Bodies and fragments of bodies lay strewn about the loading dock. Blood ran thick on the ground, visible in the light of several dropped lanterns. Chuck fought down the urge to vomit when he saw a hand, still clutching a revolver, laying not five feet in front of him. Motion caught his eye as several figures in gray trench-coats walked into the light, arguing amongst themselves.

"Why'd you almost let that one go, you buffoon?" snarled one. Its voice was guttural and odd, as if its jaw had been set wrong after a nasty break.

"I wouldn't have if any of you had looked up from your food! He was faster than he looked! Had some nice legs on him…" the "buffoon" chuckled darkly. "Went _down _real nice, at least, though the rest of him was tough to chew."

Chuck once again fought to keep control of his stomach. If his legs would only move, he'd be long gone and drinking this night down the nearest gutter! The sound of the warehouse door opening snatched his attention away from his leaden limbs, and he saw a man stumble backward out of the warehouse clawing at the ground to pull himself back.

"I told you everything! The other houses, the shipment schedule, everything! Now please…don't let 'em eat me! Don't kill me!" the terrified man pleaded with someone beyond Chuck's view. A low chuckle emanated from the warehouse, and someone stepped forth.

Chuck's fear-fogged brain had conjured images of two-ton bruisers and tall-thin killers emerging from the building, probably still licking bloody knives or cracking massive knuckles. So when his eyes landed on the object of so much dread, he at first couldn't comprehend that this short, fat man wearing a brown bowler hat was the perpetrator of so much violence.

"I suppose you've been of great assistance to me, Johnny. So, I won't be killing you after all." The fat figure raised his right hand, and Johnny stiffened before his own hand slid across the ground to seize a fallen gun. Raising it slowly, Johnny pointed the gun first at his tormentor before it began its agonizing trek toward his own face.

Chuck watched as the now-weeping man put the muzzle of the Chicago typewriter into his own mouth. Terror ripped a shrill scream from his throat as he watched the headless corpse fall to the ground.

The man in the bowler hat sighed before gesturing again with his right hand. Chuck felt his legs, formerly unable to even twitch, begin walking him up to this foul magician. He began to scream before his mouth suddenly closed, locking shut against his will. Finally, he stood in the middle of the loading dock, arms pinned to his side, unable to move or speak. Tipping his hat down, the fat man turned to the trench-coated figures.

"Make sure you clean up this last mess, boyos. We've got at least three more sites to hit tonight. And get that booze on our truck when you're done." He moved off, pausing to gesture at the crates by the warehouse.

Unable to move anything but his eyes, Chuck's last view was of an inhuman face with an impossibly-stretched jaw darting toward him. And then…oblivion.

A/N

Whew, that was _not_ as scary as I wrote it when we first ran through it. Although, it probably should have been, in retrospect. Anyway, welcome to the Dresden-verse in 1926 New York. Please feel free to shoot me questions, comments, or concerns via PM or the review option. I won't tell you everything, but there will _always_ be details I can't cover in-story, and I'd be happy to share.

We've just met the antagonists, so we'll introduce the heroes next chapter. Feel free to guess at what the three of them will be.


	2. Chapter 1: A Plot is Afoot

Ivory Tower

Chapter One: A Plot is Afoot

"That's the ninth attack this week, boss. Three of our caravans vanished almost as soon as they hit the warehouse district. Same story with the Sicilians." The speaker snorted softly before continuing. "Only people that ain't been hit are Lucky and the Jews."

Seated with great comfort behind a massive table, the 'boss' rubbed his chin in thought. His deep-set eyes roamed across pictures taken at the scene of these attacks. Bite-marks, severed limbs, and apparent suicides didn't add up to your average mob hit. Besides…

"Rothstein ain't an idiot. If he started something like this, it'd only be a matter of time before the entire Bronx was out for his head." His voice was rusty, and he sounded as though he hadn't slept in days. Passing a hand over his shadowed eyes, the capo sighed heavily. "We're gonna send a message to the Brain, get him nervous, see what he tries. You know that speakeasy he owns, run by the dame with the keen chassis?" Upon confirmation, Yale grinned darkly. "Send some of the bulls to go topple that Ivory Tower. That'll get him talking."

* * *

><p>Standing on the corner of 49th and Broadway between two bodyguards, The Brain played New York like a well-tuned violin. Bets and debts, information and alcohol, Arnold Rothstein was the man to go to. He'd made his fortune by being smart and knowing more than anyone else in the business. So he knew just how ugly things were getting ever since the attacks started.<p>

Liquor houses were raided all the time, but the police didn't leave dismembered corpses with chunks taken out of them. Mobsters didn't shove Thompsons into a man's mouth before pulling the trigger…usually. Who, or what, could have done such damage to so many armed men with hardly a shot being fired? It was a problem to be pondered and investigated, but the mobster was smart enough to realize he didn't have the luxury of time. Frankie Yale, head of the Genovese family, was out for blood. The Genovese' business had taken a particularly hefty hit, and, if his informant were to be believed, Rothstein was the target of the capo's ire.

Rothstein stepped into Lindy's Restaurant, his usual haunt after the morning's business, and took a seat at the nearest table. Bringing out a handkerchief, he wiped his face before announcing, "We are in some real trouble, Lucky. I know **I'm** not behind this scrap, and you aren't either, but the rest of New York isn't too happy about our going unscathed, here."

Across from Rothstein sat the man in charge of the largest bootlegging business this side of Chicago. Charles "Lucky" Luciano was one of the richest, and finest-dressed, mobsters of New York. In public, he was never seen without a smile on his face and a doll on each arm. Now, however, his face was grim and his arms empty of company.

"Some of my 'friends' are suggesting that I should leave town before this gets ugly, Arnold. Uglier, I mean. We've got to find somebody to pin this on before Brooklyn goes up in flames…and us with it." Luciano grimaced, his handsome face twisting at the thought of so much lost profit. "And I, for one, am too handsome to burn."

Rothstein leaned back in his chair, chuckling darkly. As he reclined he ran a multitude of plans and possibilities through his head, none of which were likely to end well. His mind struck on a possible solution, and a small smile crept onto his face. He motioned with his right hand, and one of his silent bodyguards stepped away from the door and stood next to him.

"Fetch me the Jap," he said, smile widening into a grin. "If there was one person in this city who could handle this…it'd be him."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Rothstein was enjoying one of Lindy's famous sandwiches while chatting amiably with the other occupants of the busy restaurant. By the time his bodyguard returned and whispered in his ear, Rothstein was busy listening to a middle-aged salesman, mirth written clearly on both of their faces. Rothstein stood up and shook hands with the salesman, saying, "Mr. Berlinger, I hope that you will give my best to your boy when you write him next. Your stories of him always make me laugh, and I needed that. Good day."<p>

Rothstein stepped out onto the street corner again, eyes alighting on the unusual figure standing next to his other bodyguard. He fixed a smile to his face and stepped forward. "Kenta, I'm glad you could make it. Let's step over to the Tower, it'll be quiet there, and I know Delilah won't mind the company."

The short figure nodded, his face invisible beneath a broad hat, and his body hidden under a coat that was far too big for him. They walked for several minutes in silence, both of Rothstein's bodyguards trailing several yards behind them. When they finally arrived at a door secreted in a broad alleyway, Rothstein almost released a sigh of relief. Dealing with Kenta was always awkward, and he had a feeling Delilah could help with that. He opened the door with his own key and led way into the room beyond.

The room was large and dotted with strategically-placed tables. Across from the door stood a bar with the words "The Ivory Tower" on the wall beyond. Off in the corner was a stage for the evening's entertainment, currently bare but for a gleaming off-white curtain and a microphone. Everything was well lit with a warm yellow glow, muting the glare off of the ivory and white accoutrements which made up the decor.

The Tower could easily seat 100 people comfortably, but several tables were always left empty, to be moved later to form a dance-floor. Soon the speakeasy would be filled with the sound of many happy customers, but for now the room was silent and empty.

A small hallway in the back lead to the restrooms and an office, and it was from this hallway that perfection stepped.

Delilah James was not a flapper: she would have none of the sandals and short skirts, and she loathed the bobbed hairstyle so beloved by their kind. Her dress was conservative, her hair long and lustrous, gleaming scarlet in the light of her club. Her disregard for modern fashion may have had something to do with the way her body in no way resembled a light-pole. Delilah was all smooth curve and sensuous arch, and the way she moved accented this unabashedly.

"Mr. Rothstein, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Her voice was lyrical and soft in a way that soothed nerves and softened tensions. The soft remainder of what must have once been a British accent lingered over each syllable. She stalked closer to the men, meeting each man's gaze in turn as she stopped in front on them.

Arnold Rothstein paused to collect himself before saying, "As always, it is wonderful to see you again, Delilah. I was hoping to speak with Kenta," here he gestured toward the still-shrouded figure, "on a matter of some urgency and privacy. Your club came to mind as the perfect place to discuss this matter, as it could involve you, as well."

Delilah's eyes never left Kenta's shrouded face as she nodded, motioning with her left hand. "Anthony, would you be so kind as to take the coats of these gentlemen? Then we can meet in my office." Immediately, a young man in a white shirt-and-tie came up from behind the bar and walked over to collect hats, coats, and canes. When he finally came to Kenta, he found that the short figure had yet to move.

"Sir, may I take your coat for you?" The barman asked politely, glancing over at Delilah and Rothstein for guidance.

Slowly, as if it were made of cement instead of fabric, Kenta removed the cover from his head, revealing a dark head of hair, cropped short and close to his scalp. Delilah's sharp gaze noticed the remnants of a strange haircut. His features spoke of an obvious Asian background, but his skin was white and unhealthy-looking. Several small wrinkles about the eyes and lips gave indications as to his age, but it was his eyes that entranced those around him. Black as his hair, they were like rings of some dark stone adorning an alabaster statue, and showed almost as much emotion.

The coat came off soon after, revealing an ancient brown suit, fifty years out of fashion. The brown abomination hid his physique well, and Delilah gleaned no more information from it. Her nose told her, however, that the suit smelled nothing like mothballs or cedar, meaning it hadn't been in storage recently. She caught the scent of saltwater and something else, something flowery and very, very faint.

Her eyes roved back to his own, gray matching obsidian. "As this is your first time here, I would like to welcome you to The Ivory Tower, Mr. …?" She paused, waiting.

"Kenta will do, Miss James." He spoke for the first time as he bowed slightly, from the waist. His voice was quiet and calm, neither smooth nor rough. Even his accent was soft, not the jarring grammar and stilted dialogue expected of most immigrants.

"Kenta." Delilah finished, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly. She turned and began walking back toward the hallway from which she had emerged. "If you gentlemen will follow me?"

Rothstein grinned slyly and mouthed 'gladly' to one of his guards before striding after her. Kenta followed silently, nodding to Anthony. Anthony, for his part, was too busy struggling to lift Kenta's coat to notice.

* * *

><p>Stepping into her office Delilah immediately offered the padded seat behind her desk to Rothstein. He declined, and as Delilah sat he motioned his guards to stay outside. Once Kenta had stepped in, he closed the door and they both took a chair before the desk.<p>

Rothstein sighed, glancing around the room. The walls were devoid of portraits, mirrors, or any other decoration. The only decorations stood upon the mantle above the fireplace: two pictures, both of the Ivory Tower's opening day, when he gave her the job as manager. The good memory helped to counter his growing nervousness as he settled further into his chair.

"I'm sorry I couldn't visit on a happier occasion, my dear." He looked to Delilah as he said this, smiling briefly before nodding toward Kenta. "It's business this time, not pleasure. Though if all goes well, you may have a pleasant surprise coming your way."

"I'm sure you both know about the situation New York is in, now?" Delilah's graceful nod and Kenta's continued stare prompted him to continue. "With so many hits in such a small time, bosses and capos are getting trigger-happy. More trigger-happy than usual, I guess." He snorted. "And every one of them is pointing a gun at me and Lucky, seeing as how we're the only ones not getting hit by these operations."

Kenta made a noise somewhere between a cough and a grunt, and Rothstein took his meaning.

"Alright, to wrap it up, I need someone to clear my name. Lucky's, too. You've helped us before, and you know I pay well. I'll pay your usual fee, including a daily rate of $1000 cash, if you'll take the job and work with Delilah, here." Rothstein smirked as he said this, catching the redhead's expression out of the corner of his eye.

He nodded toward Delilah. "She can fill you in on where she needs you. _I_ will need you to stay here in the Tower when you're not pursuing a lead, so it's best if you two get acquainted." Now his eyes locked on to Kenta's with great intensity.

"Do you accept?"

* * *

><p>Not far down the street from the Ivory Tower, a limousine pulled up to the curb. One gentleman stepped out of the back, straightening his suit and smoothing back his dark hair. He looked to be in his early thirties, with a narrow frame and a hawk-like gaze. His eyes passed briefly over the few passers-by before fixing on the building in front on him.<p>

Twenty years ago, this had no doubt been a sturdy warehouse, a credit to its architect. Now, however, it was falling apart, the bricks graying and crumbling all along the front. The man snorted as he observed the small pile of foot-high letters lying on the curb before the door. The sign above that door, the source of those letters, read "Bureau of Inv sti ati n" in more black, foot-high letters.

He stepped to the door, kicking the fallen word out of his path, and knocked roughly. The door, which had stood proudly for two decades, finally gave up the ghost and slowly, creakily, fell backward into the room beyond. It smashed into the ground with a mighty boom, followed by a moment of silence, as if out of respect for the beleaguered portal.

A thick Scottish brogue shattered that silence. "Dammit, I knew that door was on its way out! Somebody go put the damn thing back in its place before we get another damn cat in here!" By some cosmic coincidence, this sentence was punctuated by a loud meow from nearby.

The man outside growled softly before stepping irately the building, his stride stiff and angry. He walked briskly through the room beyond the doorway, brushing past whoever had been sent to fix the door. Stalking down rows of random paraphernalia on shelves, he barged through a thin curtain into a large, cluttered 'office' formed by a combination of filing-cabinets and piles of paperwork.

The only occupant of the 'office' was a gray-bearded older gentleman who turned with a mixture of confusion and annoyance toward his new visitor. His expression flickered from annoyed to furious to cheery in the blink of an eye, and he stood to extend a hand.

"Mr. Hoover. It's a pleasure to have you up here, sir. I'll try not to take up too much of your time, but as you can see…" The old man was cut off when his visitor slashed a hand sharply through the air.

"Mr. Eire, I did not come here to listen to you jaw about how terrible things are for your department. I came to let you know that its days are numbered, and so are yours in this Bureau." Hoover bared his teeth as he spoke, savoring the words and their harsh effect.

"I have tolerated your 'Paranormal Crime Division' for a full year as a personal favor to President Coolidge." Hoover grimaced briefly before a triumphant sneer replaced the expression. "I have made a deal with the President for your head: if you don't solve a single, rational crime within your Department's purview during the next three months, I can shut you down with his approval."

The sneer widened. "Three months after June 7th, actually. There must have been some mix up with the paperwork. Terribly sorry about that, but as you can see…" he waved his hand toward the cluttered mess that was the older man's office.

With that, J. Edgar Hoover turned on his heel and marched out through the door and straight back into his limousine, which quickly drove away. His mocking laughter filled the decrepit warehouse, the only sign that he'd been there at all beyond the sound of shattering dreams and the creaking of a falling door.

Robert 'Bob' Eire, Head of the Paranormal Crime Division, slowly sank down into his leather chair. When Hoover had taken over as the sixth head of the BI, Eire had high hopes that the younger man would look favorably on his Division. He'd dreamed of expanding into his own Bureau, even given it a name. But now the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense looked like a fool's dream, shot down by a young, jealous tinhorn.

Eire was shaken from his ever-sinking thoughts by a polite knock on his 'office door'. "Come on in," he called, trying and failing to steady his voice.

A head of messy brown hair poked around the curtain at the front of his workspace. Eire smiled as he recognized his favorite employee, Flynn O'Connell. Flynn stood a little over six feet tall, and his wiry frame concealed muscles more appropriate on a boxer than a BI investigator. He walked with a cane and dressed in a simple suit during business hours. His face, now twisted in sympathy for his boss' plight, normally held a small, peaceful smile.

Flynn stepped closer to his boss, taking a seat on some paperwork across from the old man.

"Is there anything I can do to help, Bob?" he asked, tilting his head to the side in query.

Eire smiled softly. He glanced up to meet Flynn's eyes, trying to convey calmness and certainty. "I'll find a way to make all of this work out, my boy. You mark my words, this will all blow over soon enough." He frowned again when he noticed how Flynn avoided meeting his eyes, instead staring at a spot somewhere between them in a mildly disquieting fashion. Then again, Flynn always did that, so Bob tried not to take offense.

"I'll tell you what, my boy. Why don't you head on down to the Tower and have something to drink for the both of us?" He winked roguishly at the younger man. "I think that young Sara is working tonight, and I know Miss Delilah is always happy to have you down there."

Flynn blushed and chuckled. "Well, if that's an order, boss… I'll be on my way." He shook hands with the old Scot and stepped out into the warehouse, pausing to pull the curtain back over the office's entrance.

Bob sighed as he turned back to his desk. His eyes widened, and he set his teeth as he glared at the lump of gray fuzz in the middle of his paperwork. He reached out a hand, which was promptly licked by the gray puddle, causing him to pull his hand back and chuckle. Jaw relaxing, Bob settled down to pet the kitten on his desk, the soft rumble soothing the day's cares away.

"You may be a mangy fleabag, Jinxy, but you always know just what to do to cheer us up." The kitten yawned at him before curling up to better enjoy the old man's attention.

* * *

><p>Flynn walked briskly down the sidewalk toward the Tower, cane clicking on every other step. He paused to tip his hat as a gaggle of young flappers passed by him, then crossed into the alleyway which held the Tower's front door. He took a deep breath, straightened his suit, and knocked on the heavy door. One tap, a brief pause, and then three more taps.<p>

The slot at eye-level opened, and the man behind the door grunted in recognition. The sound of several locks sliding open signaled permission to enter, and Flynn nodded to the bouncer as he stepped into the club. As he walked over to his traditional table next to the corner, he noticed three things.

First, that he was among the first guests at the Tower tonight. Not unusual, as it was barely past six o'clock.

Second, that Delilah was on stage, warming up her voice before starting the evening's entertainment. He paused to listen, enjoying Delilah's smoky singing voice before looking back toward the door.

There was a new coat-rack, currently bearing an absurdly wide hat and a large coat, standing next to Clark the bouncer. As he watched, Clark turned and said something to it, paused for a moment as if listening, then chuckled. Flynn's keen investigative skills detected something wrong with this situation. Either Clark had gone insane –a possibility, but the man was usually solid as a rock– or the coat-rack was actually a person standing very still. A person dressed in ridiculous, but very obscuring, clothing: Flynn marked it down as suspicious activity, and then ordered a whisky. He was here to sit back and relax, perhaps get a little drunk, and then, and only then, would he get back to his day-job.

Delilah finished her warm-up just as the first wave of patrons came crashing into the speakeasy. Soon the room was abuzz with conversation and the sound of drinks being ordered.

Flynn soon found himself with three young ladies at his table, eager to discuss anything and everything with the handsome man.

At the door, Kenta merely rolled his eyes beneath his wide hat. He memorized faces and names, occasionally asking for clarification from Clark. The bouncer usually included a story with each patron's name, and soon he and Kenta were chuckling together after each new patron.

After everyone had ordered their first set of drinks, the patrons turned as one toward the stage. Delilah smiled charmingly, seeming to catch everyone's eye as she ran her gaze over her audience. Then, she began to sing.

If her speaking voice was soothing, then her singing voice was entrapping. Every low note brought a tear to the eye, and every high note brought a smile to a face. The band behind her was silent: this was her show, and they couldn't bring themselves to play even if they had to. Her glorious song travelled from love to loss, beauty to tragedy, and by the time she finished there wasn't a dry eye in the room. Everyone motioned for more of their drinks in silence, before gradually conversation began to pick back up.

At the door, however, two sets of dry eyes took turns looking out into the alley. Clark and Kenta heard the coming of many footsteps, and Clark's experienced ears caught the sound of something wooden being dropped followed by muffled cursing. He motioned toward Anthony, who paused in the middle of fixing a drink, reached down behind the counter and held something above his head for all to see.

The sharp rapping of wood on metal filled the bar as the words "Open up! This is a raid!" echoed throughout the speakeasy.

A/N

Whew, three exams later and I'm still in one piece. Didn't quite make my goal on this chapter, though. I'm aiming for 5,000 words per chapter, give or take. Let me know if this is too few, or too many, eh?

Anyway, the three main characters have showed up, and hints have been dropped as to what they are. The Dresdenverse has a vast multitude of champions, and Kenta, Flynn, and Delilah run the gamut of them. Special mention for anyone who guesses correctly via review or PM.

Anyway, I'll try to keep up with my publishing schedule. Feel free to PM me with questions, comments, concerns, conundrums, or comedy routines.

_Vale te!_

_PS - Any experienced authors: I need help formatting these things into shorter lines. Right now it looks like my last research paper, not a book!  
><em>


	3. Chapter 2: A Meeting of Minds

A/N – Congrats to Razorsmile for guessing the nature of one of our heroes!

I'm actually surprised at how many people are having trouble with the other two. Don't worry, though: the _players_ didn't guess what one of them was until the 20th week or so.

Previously on _Ivory Tower_:

_At the door, however, two pairs of dry eyes took turns looking out into the alley. Clark and Kenta heard the coming of many footsteps, and Clark's experienced ears caught the sound of something wooden being dropped followed by muffled cursing. He motioned toward Anthony, who paused in the middle of fixing a drink, reached down behind the counter and held something above his head for all to see._

_The sharp rapping of wood on metal filled the bar as the words "Open up! This is a raid!" echoed throughout the speakeasy._

* * *

><p>Ivory Tower<p>

Chapter 2: A Meeting of Minds

The heavy door opened slowly, despite how many cops were pushing on it. One burly detective tried to ram through the opening, only to rebound off of Kenta. The shorter man snorted softly, and then stepped aside to allow the flow of police to continue into the Tower. A full dozen of New York's Finest prowled throughout the room, searching each table and the bar beyond for any and all alcohol. Many of them slowed their search when Delilah stepped gracefully down from the stage, drawing appreciative glances from every male in the room.

They finished their search just as the detective from before stepped in through the front door, red-faced and furious, brushing off his coat as he walked. His eyes scanned the entire club in seconds before holding on the club's owner. One of his subordinates hustled up to him.

"Inspector Duhan! There is no alcohol on the premises: they're all drinking milk!" As one, the Ivory Tower's clientele turned to the detective and lifted their white glasses to him.

*Flashback*

At the bar, Anthony saw Clark's signal at the door and felt a moment of dread. He stopped everything to reach beneath the bar and pull out a sign with the word "Raid!" printed in large letters. He held it up for a full five seconds before, dropping the sign, his hands became a blur of motion, pushing hidden buttons and moving certain levers _just_ so.

The wall of bottles behind him swung around quickly to reveal an identical set of shelves stocked with bottles of milk. One of his frantic motions opened up a hidden drain, into which all alcohol on the bar was poured. Long-time customers of the bar lifted the silver disc centered on each table, revealing a similar drain for their forbidden beverages. The waitresses hurried around the room with bottles of milk, filling each glass with the liquid before bustling off.

At the door, Kenta watched as Clark pulled one of the empty coat-rack pins out of the wall. Immediately, a mechanism on the hinges clamped down, causing the already-substantial door to feel as though it weighed a full ton.

As it was still early in the evening, there were no drink-sodden bodies to hide in the hidden compartments within the walls.

As the door opened slowly, every eye turned toward the young man in the corner many knew to be part of the Bureau of Investigations. He looked up from his milk, glancing around the room before giving a slow, deliberate wink and holding a finger to his milk-mustachioed lips.

*End Flashback*

Delilah watched as the Inspector bore down on her, eyes blazing. She merely lifted a statuesque eyebrow when he stepped uncomfortably close, face mere inches from her own. A low growl filled the air between them as he snapped out, "Alright. I'm only going to ask this **once **before I start tearing this place apart. Where's the booze?"

Delilah shrugged, shifting her posture to rest a hand on her hip. "I run a clean establishment here, Mr. Duhan," she said. "You'll find nothing illegal here. Just a few friends getting together and enjoying some mil-"

He cut her off, "Milk. Not likely. Your story's almost as likely as the BI actually doing something useful in this city." He growled at her again, looming large. "Tell me where the booze is, or you and me are taking a trip downtown."

"I," Delilah said primly. "The proper grammar would be 'you and I are taking a trip downtown', which I have no intention of doing no matter how you say it." She met his glaring brown eyes with her own gray orbs. "I think you have done enough for one visit, Mr. Duhan. Would you kindly get out of my establishment so we may continue to enjoy our evening?"

"I'll leave when I'm good and ready! Like when I've found where you're hiding the booze so I can lock you up for good!" Duhan bellowed.

"D-d-don't you yell at Ms. J-J-James like that!" Duhan appeared startled, looking around for the source of the stuttering, but still pugnacious voice. When he finally looked down, he saw a spindly, brown-haired young man glaring at him, trying to be intimidating.

Delilah mentally sighed. This was Carl Jeffs, a regular customer who constantly showered her with compliments and gifts. She had joined him for _one_ petting-party, and ever since he was hardly ever absent from her club. And right now, he was sticking up for his 'lady' in a situation where she neither wanted it, nor needed it.

Inspector Duhan's face twisted in fury, and he slammed his fist down on the table in front of the stick-figure. "Listen, you little-" he stopped himself as he heard a chorus of voices behind him.

"Cheers!"

* * *

><p>Flynn lowered his face into his hands, feeling a headache forming already. The handsome investigator had watched as Kenta sat down with Clark, pulling a bottle and several small, shallow cups from one of his pockets. Several of the officers nearby immediately swooped in to identify what was in the bottle.<p>

Flynn had watched, puzzled, as the Asian man pulled out a worn piece of paper, which he handed to the officers. Words were exchanged in low voices as Kenta filled six of the low cups, passing one to each man at the table and leaving the last in the middle.

The officers shrugged, and they drank along with Clark and Kenta. Kenta downed his with no visible effect, while two of the officers fought to keep the fiery liquid down. Oddest of all was the effect on Clark and the third officer: both of them suddenly sat straighter, and Flynn could see even from where he sat that their eyes had brightened and smiles adorned their faces. Clark even began rolling the shoulder that had taken a bullet in the Great War, wonder dawning on his face.

The Inspector barreled toward the table like a train down a steep mountain, barely-contained rage evident in his every step. "What do you chuckle-heads think you're doing? This is an investigation, damn you!" He paused to sniff the air, eyes narrowing in recognition as he turned toward Delilah, who had followed him.

"I thought you said there was no alcohol here, Ms. James? So what exactly is _this_?" he shouted triumphantly, grabbing the bottle and brandishing it in her face.

Delilah opened her mouth to denounce her involvement, but was cut off when Kenta said, in a low voice, "_That_ is the sakē I brought with me to this country, baka. I still have the receipt from when I passed through Immigration."

The grinning officer passed the worn paper to his superior, who barely glanced at it before barking, "This date can't be correct, Chinaman. I'd say that this is a forgery." He moved to dash the porcelain bottle on the ground.

Flynn, looking on, swore that he saw Kenta's eyes gleam beneath his hat as the short man's right hand snapped out, catching the bottle almost as it left the Inspector's hand. Duhan looked down at Kenta, growling loudly. The light above that table began to flicker, and Flynn felt something large and angry brush up against his senses.

Moving quickly, Flynn stood and stepped to the Inspector's side, snatching the receipt from his hands. Looking for something, anything, to defuse the situation, his gaze flickered first at the date: January 1, 1875. That meant the 'sakē' was made before Prohibition, and thereby legal to own and drink in a private environment. It would also make the immigrant at least 50 years old…but that was a problem for another time.

As Inspector Duhan turned to face him, Flynn examined the list of belongings. Clothing, heirlooms, antiquities: his eyes scanned down the list as Duhan opened his mouth to begin shouting about interfering with an ongoing investigation.

One bottle of sakē, laid down in the year 1425. Currently valued at…

Flynn's eyes widened, and he turned the paper toward the Inspector, once again interrupting him in mid-diatribe. He simply pointed at the number, and Duhan's eyes began to widen as the line of zeroes continued.

Turning in a circle to glance around the room, the Inspector identified not less than five millionaires, seven city politicians including the mayor and the police chief, three famous authors, and Senator Robert Wagner, all of whom was glowering at him and jotting his name on napkins.

The Inspector turned slowly, deflating like a hot-air balloon slowly falling to earth. He motioned to his men, and they began filing out of the club, tipping their hats to Delilah as they passed. The last to go were the Inspector, who cast one last hate-filled look at Delilah, Kenta, and Flynn before leaving, and the still-grinning officer who thanked Kenta on his way out the door. Slowly, the customers finished their milk and, in near silence, began ordering drinks again as Clark closed the door.

* * *

><p>"What the Hell was that? With how well Mr. Rothstein seems to think of you, I had at least expected some intelligence. Maybe a sense of timing? Propriety? <em>Self-preservation<em>?"

Delilah was not pleased, and had no trouble letting Kenta know this. She had requested he join her in the back-office, and then closed the door to begin verbally ripping into him. Flynn had been invited as well, and sat wide-eyed as Delilah described in great detail just how much of an idiot Kenta had been.

Kenta weathered the abuse, nodding occasionally with a neutral expression. He'd taken off the hat after stepping into the office, and it seemed that his face aged further with every word from the beautiful redhead. When she finally stopped for breath, he raised his black eyes to match her silver ones and spoke for the first time since entering.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Ms. James. The little wolf needed to learn some humility." Kenta's voice was, again, calm and emotionless as he attempted to calm the redhead.

Flynn chuckled. "Well, mortification counts, I suppose. Odds are rather good that after that little display, the Inspector will be looking for a new job tomorrow. So, all's well that ends well?" He looked hopefully to the scowling beauty behind her desk.

Delilah sighed and stood. "You have my thanks for your timely intervention, Mr. O'Connell. You, at least, acted quickly and reasonably." She smiled briefly at Flynn, who felt a similarly brief, but potent, rush of emotions.

Delilah paused, realizing something. "We've never been formally introduced, have we, Mr. O'Connell?" When he shook his head in a negative, she laughed warmly, her previous anger gone.

"Well, you know my name is Delilah James, and you know that I run the Ivory Tower. This man here," she glanced briefly at the shortest person in the room, "is Kenta. He is working for me on certain…issues."

The old albino nodded to Flynn from his chair. "Mr. O'Connell. A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Flynn said, nodding amiably. His eyes flickered toward Kenta, studying the wrinkles and spots before moving on to Delilah's much-prettier visage. His heart leapt in his chest as he almost met her gaze before settling somewhere below her neckline.

Delilah merely smiled as she noticed the attention Flynn was paying her. Then her lips shifted into a small frown, and her entire face seemed to fall. "My club was in such danger tonight, Mr. O'Connell. I truly appreciate your assistance with the Inspector. Why, it almost took my breath away when you stood up to him like that…" she reached out her right hand to meet his upon her desk. There was a moment where both the glint in her own silver orbs and the surprise in his brown ones was plain for the world to see.

Flynn jerked back, feelings of lust and impropriety welling up inside of him. If that was what a mere touch could do, imagine- 'No, not a line of thought ye want to be following, O'Connell. Ye should keep yer head on yer shoulders and not in your pants.'

"Pardon me, Ms. James, a slight shock took me." Delilah merely nodded, eyes fixed on Flynn's face.

"All is forgiven, Mr. O'Connell. Perhaps we should return to the club and try to liven up the party?" She looked from the shaken Flynn to the silent Kenta. When Flynn nodded and Kenta coughed, she stood and began ushering them out of her office and back into the club.

* * *

><p>Flynn walked back into the club and noticed that his table had been occupied by some new patrons. Sighing, he turned to look around the room, eyes lighting on the front door, which had just been opened by Clark.<p>

Four figures in gray trench-coats and wide fedoras were just stepping in. The one in the lead paused as Kenta walked by on the way to his post at the front door, and seemed to be sniffing the air. Conversations slowed as patrons turned to observe these new arrivals and their strange behavior.

The leader turned and quickly motioned the others out, almost shoving them back out the door in his hurry. Delilah, who had just emerged from her office, quirked an eyebrow. She walked to Flynn, who was still looking for an empty table, and began guiding him toward the front door.

"Did you notice anything odd about those men?" she asked, hand on the elbow of his shirt.

Flynn nodded. "Their stances weren't normal, as if they were hiding something bulky beneath their coats. The mud on their shoes, which they neglected to wipe, indicates that they had come here from a damp location, probably a port or sewer." At her confused look, he explained. "It hasn't rained in two days, and most of the city has dried out by now. Mud doesn't just spawn on the sidewalk, you know." He chuckled, but it had none of the lighthearted cheer he was known for.

Kenta appeared at his shoulder. "Good eyes, Mr. O'Connell. And a keen mind behind them. You are an excellent investigator."

Flynn jumped. 'How the bloody hell did he manage to sneak up on me? Me?'

On his other side, the red-headed proprietor glanced briefly around the club before releasing Flynn's elbow and walking briskly over to Anthony at the bar. "Take charge while I'm gone. I should be back before closing." Anthony opened his mouth to protest, but found himself speaking to empty air.

Back with Flynn, the man had finally gathered his wits enough to ask, "And did you notice anything off about the four of them,Kenta?"

The diminutive man nodded twice. "I smelled steel and gunpowder on them. A lot of both." His face briefly twisted into a sneer. "Guns. Large ones. Not something you bring to a place such as this."

"Then we're agreed," Delilah's smooth voice broke in. She sauntered back up to them, motioning for Clark to open the door. "We follow them and find out what they planned to do with those large guns. Find out who they work for. Find out why they left so quickly." Her eyes tracked to Kenta, examining him again in a new light.

"Hai," was Kenta's only response as he stepped out into the alley, shrugging his shoulders with a faint clinking noise. Flynn shrugged and followed, thinking to himself, 'Well, this surely beats a day at the office. Back to beat-work for me!'

Delilah stepped out into the cold night of New York, following Kenta and Flynn as the rounded the nearest corner onto the street. Flynn paused for a moment, reaching down to touch the sidewalk. Kenta's eyes swept the entire street, taking in the minimal night-life. Delilah stood nearby and rubbed her arms for warmth. She cursed under her breath, knowing she should have brought a coat. Just as she was about to tell them to wait while she fetched one, Flynn stood suddenly.

"This way," he shouted, sprinting toward a nearby alley. Kenta followed without pause, leading Delilah to do the same. 'Why am I following them?' she thought. 'Isn't this what minions are for?'

Kenta raced past Flynn into the mouth of the alley. Delilah watched his obsidian eyes widen as he walked into a wall of flying lead.

* * *

><p>AN 2

Sorry about the wait, folks. I've been deathly ill for almost a week now, and family concerns have been taking up most of my non-school time. Anyway, I hope this was worth the wait. If not, I'll be publishing the next chapter in a day or two.

Inspector Duhan was an incredibly unimportant character in our game. He showed up, was verbally beaten down by Delilah, and was then sent back to the station with his tail between his legs. What do you, the audience, think? Should he become a minor villain, evolve into a major villain, or simply vanish?

Guesses on the character 'classes' are still being accepted. One of them is easy, one of them is moderately hard, and the last one is really tough.

Feel free to shoot me any questions or comments you may have. If there are enough, I'll post both them and their answers in the next two updates.

Vale te!


	4. Chapter 3: Of Ghouls and Men

Previously on _Ivory Tower_:

_"This way," he shouted, sprinting toward a nearby alley. Kenta followed without pause, leading Delilah to do the same. _

_'Why am I following them?' she thought. 'Isn't this what minions are for?'_

_Kenta raced past Flynn into the mouth of the alley. Delilah watched his obsidian eyes widen as he walked into a wall of flying lead._

* * *

><p>Ivory Tower<p>

Chapter 3: Of Ghouls and Men

Kenta's body fell backward as the rattling of Chicago Typewriters filled the air. Flynn ducked behind pile of nearby trashcans while Delilah crouched just outside of the alley. Bullets ricocheted off of the steel trashcans and smacked into concrete and brick, occasionally punching through one side and rattling around. By the time the guns fell silent, the first three cans were thoroughly Swiss-cheesed and Flynn, crouching behind the fourth, was thanking his lucky stars individually and by name.

The investigator took a peek from behind his cover and prepared to move. He saw the four gray-coated figures slapping new drums onto their guns, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. As he moved to leap out of the alley to better cover, however, his foot caught on something and he stumbled, sprawling.

In a panic, he turned and threw up his hand toward his foes, as if to plead for his life. He heard a rumble of low chuckles from the gunmen. Time slowed down as Flynn O'Connell watched them pull back the trigger, four soulless black barrels all pointed at his prone figure. And then… nothing.

* * *

><p>Delilah had watched in horror as the handsome investigator had fallen out onto the sidewalk. Moving to help him would only have made her a target, however, and evening gowns were not made for quick rescues. Still, she had just gathered the will to rush out and grab him when a series of sharp 'ping's intruded upon her senses. She watched as Kenta, whom she had thought quite dead, stood and brushed off his tattered coat, causing many flattened pieces of lead to fall to the concrete.<p>

Cocking her head in confusion, she watched him glance down the alleyway before making 16 quick gestures in the air. Lines of blue fire followed his hands, forming a strange figure in the air before vanishing.

Delilah's eyes narrowed.

* * *

><p>Flynn looked up to a series of small explosions. Down the alley, all four figures were grasping at bloody hands. Pieces of smoking metal lay scattered around the alley, though none of them were close to him.<p>

Not one to frown upon good fortune, Flynn stood quickly. He grabbed his cane and twisted the top, pulling a long, thin blade from its wooden sheath. Rolling his shoulders, he charged down the alley at the assailants.

Behind him, Kenta began marching toward the enemy, both hands near his belt on his left side.

Delilah stepped cautiously into the alley, glancing around for any further attackers. Seeing none, she settled back to keep an eye on the fight. 'Now _this_ is what minions are for.'

* * *

><p>Flynn lunged smoothly toward his first target. He felt his blade pierce flesh and keep going, emerging from his opponent's back. He pulled on his blade, already looking to his next target, but felt something resisting him. The young man looked toward his blade just in time to see a clawed hand release it and swing at his jaw.<p>

Kenta ducked underneath the flying detective, marching steadily onward. Three of his enemies shed their overcoats and revealed their hunched-over forms. Gray skinned and covered in stubbly hair, they stretched out gangly arms tipped with vicious claws and roared at his approach.

Kenta moved fluidly, drawing a curved blade from empty air and striking in the same motion. His blade sang as it cleaved forward. The nearest monster dodged too late, howling as it clutched the bloody stump where its arm used to be.

Two of the monsters struck simultaneously, one high and one low. The short Japanese man turned his charge into a quick forward roll, ducking beneath both blows. Through it all, his sword never stopped moving.

One of them roared again and charged at him from the side. He stepped around the monster and kept moving, blade flashing.

He moved through the enemy, ending his dance a short distance beyond them. As he swiped his blade through the air one last time, stripping it of dark blood, two of the creatures fell to pieces behind him.

One of the creatures, cane-sword still jutting from its chest, roared defiantly and tried to turn. A sharp pain in its chest stopped it, and it looked down to find the sword gone. When it looked up again, it stared into the grim face of Flynn O'Connell. Steel flashed, and the thing knew no more.

The final monster, still clutching its bloody stump, glanced feverishly around the alley. On its right, Kenta was just turning around, bringing his sword into a ready position. On its left, a dour-looking Flynn was just pulling his sword out of a corpse's face. Seeing only one easy escape, the creature leapt at one of the alley's walls and began climbing. Its remaining claw dug into the brick and mortar, leaving long gouges and deep holes.

As both Kenta and Flynn rushed to stop it, something round and metal came flying out of nowhere and smashed the creature in the back. It fell twenty feet, landing between the men with a bone-shattering crunch. Astounded, both men turned to stare at Delilah, who stood at the mouth of the alley next to a now-lidless trashcan.

Delilah simply pointed at the creature, which was clawing its way down the alley toward the far end. As they watched, it pulled itself up with some of the piping bolted to the wall and began stumbling away from them, gradually picking up speed.

Flynn cursed and tried to follow, but rocked on his feet as his vision blurred. 'That love-tap on the jaw may have been a wee bit much,' he thought blearily, stumbling.

Kenta merely grunted before stabbing the sword into his own gut. Without flinching, he quickly began sketching out a symbol in the air. Green fire briefly flashed 13 connected lines before, with a horrifying screech, two of the alley's pipes bent out into the path of the creature. They flattened as they met, forming an impossibly-thin blade in the middle of the alley.

Unable to check its progress, the top half of the creature flew several feet beyond where its bottom half had fallen over. Screaming in some unknown tongue, the thing grasped at its entrails, trying to hold everything in. A shadow blocked out the lamplight, and it looked up to see the small warrior bending over it with a curved knife.

As the blade descended toward its throat, the bifurcated creature mustered its remaining energy to yell, "Best wishes in Hell from Frankie Yale!" As the knife slashed through its windpipe, the creature opened its hand and let something roll out.

Suddenly, the alley was a scene from Dante's Inferno. Light, fire, and thunderous noise caused Flynn and Delilah to drop to the ground. Flynn ducked just in time for a burning figure to fly back, out of the alley and across the street.

Sirens sounding all around them, Flynn and Delilah raced out of the alley and over to Kenta. Flynn reached down and pulled the tattered mercenary to his feet. Looking around groggily, the Japanese man followed as Delilah led the way to the Ivory Tower's back entrance. The three of them entered swiftly and slammed the door shut behind them, throwing two deadbolts and several locks before falling into the chairs in Delilah's nearby office.

* * *

><p>"This is disturbing news. I had thought myself the only businessman in New York who employed people from <em>your<em> world." Delilah had called Arnold Rothstein, who had arrived soon after with Meyer Lansky and Charles Luciano.

The three mobsters huddled in Delilah's office along with Flynn and Kenta. Flynn looked to be slightly discomfited sharing a room with three of the biggest names in New York Crime. Delilah distracted him by pulling him off to the side where they spoke at length in hushed tones.

"These things had fangs and claws, you say?" Lansky queried, getting vehement nodding from the two of the three parties involved in the scuffle. "And they were incredibly strong and fast?" Delilah and Flynn nodded again, Flynn gesturing toward the massive bruise on his lower jawline.

"So it's likely that these…monsters…are the cause of our warehouse woes?" Luciano asked intently, a small smile forming as he caught his own alliteration.

Kenta stepped forward, drawing every eye in the room to him. "Hai," he rumbled.

"And you're sure it said 'Frankie Yale' before it died, Kenta?" Rothstein asked, rubbing his chin. The Jewish mob-boss looked as though he had been roused from a sound sleep by Delilah's call. He rubbed his eyes before refocusing on Kenta's face.

"Hai" said the aged Japanese man again, nodding sharply to punctuate his statement. Luciano and Delilah stared at him, waiting for more, but both Lansky and Rothstein knew better.

Rothstein sighed heavily. "I'll have to assume that we're at war now. And it's going to be blo-"

"Your pardon, Mr. Rothstein, but it may not have come to that just yet." Luciano, Lansky, and Rothstein all turned to stare at Delilah incredulously.

"He just tried to attack my speakeasy with supernatural…bozos packing explosives. He could have blown this place sky-high if the three of you hadn't scared them off and then run them down. And we just established that those…things are the source of the disruption of this town's booze business." Rothstein's voice never wavered or changed pitch, but his tone set Flynn's hair standing on end and caused Kenta to shift in his corner.

Delilah didn't even blink. "Yes, Mr. Rothstein, that is true. But I've been comparing notes with Mr. O'Connell, here, and we seem to have come across some discrepancies."

The statuesque redhead stood and began pacing. "First, there is the matter of that raid earlier tonight. Inspector Duhan is a well-known and respected member of the police force, a man who would never take a bribe…from anyone but Mr. Yale and his boys. The next police raid is scheduled for a week from now, and Mr. Luciano" she paused and nodded to the playboy, "owns all of the police assigned to that raid. Who, then, pointed us out for the impromptu raid tonight?"

Rothstein's face twisted in concentration as he began to consider this. Lansky, however, had a question.

"So he called in the raid on the Tower. How does that make him less likely to send in his supernatural punks in case Duhan failed? That would make the most-" Lansky cut himself off as a thought occurred to him.

As one, he and Rothstein looked at each other. The same thought passed through their heads as they turned to face Delilah.

"That does not sound much like Mr. Yale, does it?" The two men grimaced and shook their heads. Yale was very intelligent, true, but not much of a schemer. Planning like that just wasn't the mobster's style. The Italian capo used his power more like a lead pipe than anything else: heavy-handed and unsubtle described him perfectly.

Flynn spoke up. "We have yet to really connect Yale to the creatures at all, aside from the testimony of the one Kenta killed. I don't think you gentlemen want to start a war on such flimsy evidence."

The three mobsters looked startled, then thoughtful. Kenta stepped back out of his corner.

"I have met these…things before. They are mercenaries, cannon-fodder in the larger conflicts between supernaturals," the old mercenary said, voice flat and emotionless. "They will work for anyone who promises them payment and blood."

Delilah nodded, and then took a deep breath. "It is more likely that someone within Mr. Yale's organization is trying to shift the blame while still removing a rival. Sparking a gang-war when most of the capos are already aligned against Mr. Rothstein could open up more of the market for a particularly greedy higher-up."

Luciano's eyes lit up before narrowing viciously. "Vito." When everyone turned to look at him, he explained further. "Vito Moreno is a little rag who's supposed to work for Frankie Yale. But Vito only works for Vito these days: rumors say that he's been stealing from his boss for months. Yale still trusts him, though, so nobody's said anything to the chief about it. If you're right about somebody shifting the blame, sweetcakes, then this has Vito's greasy little fingerprints all over it."

Rothstein closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his gaze was firm and his face set. "Mr. O'Connell," he began, turning toward the towering young man "I would like to thank you for your assistance tonight. You helped my dear Delilah and my friend Kenta even though you had nothing to gain and everything to lose. While I would not dream of attaching value to their well being, you may ask anything of me. If it is in my power to do so, I shall grant your request." He settled back to watch as Flynn began thinking furiously.

The conversation between J. Edgar Hoover and Bob Eire flashed through his mind. Almost immediately, Flynn had a brilliant, foolproof plan. He hoped.

"Mr. Rothstein, I would simply ask to be included in this undertaking. My Department is in sore need of a…victory, of sorts. I would like to make this an 'official' investigation, in which I will make sure not to mention any of your names save for as concerned citizens. That is my only request."

Rothstein looked startled, then did the one thing Flynn least expected: he grinned. "I've heard about Bob's troubles with the new Kid. I'd be happy to help an old friend out of a tight spot. Welcome to the team, Mr. O'Connell." Flynn's face lit up like Christmas morning, joy undimmed by thoughts of things to come.

Arnold Rothstein turned to face Kenta and Delilah. "The three of you will go have a 'word' with Vito Moreno. Get whatever information you can out of him, and find out if he's the one sending those gray baboons after the shipments and my club. Good luck to all of you, and don't get caught."

Arnold Rothstein, The Brain of New York, stood and nodded to everyone in the room. Meyer Lansky followed just behind, pausing to nod to Delilah on the way out. Luciano reached out and took Delilah's hand, kissed it gently, and then sauntered out to enjoy New York's nightlife.

* * *

><p>Delilah sighed heavily before gracefully folding back into the seat behind her desk. She turned tired eyes toward the two men seated before her, every inch the exhausted young beauty.<p>

"I sincerely hope that you are correct, Mr. O'Connell, that Mr. Yale is not involved with those ghouls. Because if he is, New York just turned into a shooting gallery, and the three of us are going to be some of the first targets."

The tall investigator stretched his legs and toyed with his cane, mind racing from possibility to possibility. He raised his own gaze to focus just below Delilah's ivory neck before replying, "The evidence, what precious little of it there is, would tend to point in that direction. At this moment, I am more concerned with how a beautiful young businesswoman such as yourself would know what, exactly, ghouls are. It's not exactly common knowledge, Miss James."

The Ivory Tower's red-headed operator smiled wanly. "Mr. O'Connell, I am well aware that _no one_ in the group is what they appear to be. Kenta," here she pointed at the wrinkled figure seated before her desk, "took around 200 .45 bullets to the torso and brushed it off…literally. He then used magic to detonate four Thompsons and manipulate plumbing into a deadly weapon."

She pointed next at Flynn. "And don't think I didn't notice your own actions, Mr. O'Connell. I had the opportunity to see the small pile of bullets and gun-parts located _directly_ in front of where you fell. A shield of some sort, _Wizard_?" she smiled triumphantly.

Across the desk, Flynn slumped further into his chair, eyes closed. After a moment, he opened them again and stared with some intensity straight between Delilah's eyes. "Did you ever think to just ask, lass?" His voice had fallen into a harsher accent, and he straightened his shoulders, seeming to expand and fill the room with his presence.

Delilah seemed to shrink back a bit, less sure of herself. Kenta merely snorted.

"Will you at least try to keep the peace, little phage? Or you, man of the Council?" The other two occupants of the office turned to glare at him. The old mercenary simply shrugged. "I am old. Not blind, nor stupid. The three of us now know some of each others' capabilities. This is good, if we are to fight together for Mr. Rothstein."

Behind her desk, Delilah took a moment to center herself before nodding. "True enough, Kenta. Do we have a truce, gentlemen?" She looked from one man to the other, waiting until each had given his affirmation before going on. "Very well. We can meet tomorrow, here, and then pay Mr. Moreno a visit." She stood. "Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen. I bid you goodnight."

Kenta and Flynn stood and bid their goodnights before exiting. Delilah reached for a cigarette. 'I have gone to great lengths to stay outside of my Family's politics,' she thought, lighting up. 'Yet here I am, getting sucked into mortal issues just as dangerous. Well, maybe.' She chuckled darkly before walking back out into her club.

* * *

><p>Kenta and Flynn departed the Ivory Tower wordlessly. They walked for some distance together in silence before Flynn began to turn down the street toward his home. He stopped and looked back at the aged mercenary standing on the street corner in a burnt and tattered suit. Closing his eyes for a moment, the investigator asked, "Do you have a place to stay, Kenta?"<p>

His only answer was a brief chuckle and a short, "Hai." Opening his eyes again, Flynn was tempted to ask about Kenta's magical education and background. The sight of the old man walking briskly away into the darkness shot that particular thought in the foot, though.

Yawning, Flynn crossed the street to his apartment building, descending the stairs to his basement dwelling. As he approached his door, he noticed that a single tattered sheet of white paper had been pinned to the heavy oak. It was a telegram from someone in Missouri.

Pulling it down, he read:

Answer your damn phone!

Jackson's been trying to call you.

You're going to have company soon.

-E. McCoy

St. Louis, US-MO

Quickly, Flynn unlocked his door. Muttering, he waved his hand to lower the wards around his home before stepping through and raising them again. His long strides brought him swiftly to his phone. As he picked up the receiver, he reached out and grabbed a nearby sheaf of papers and began leafing through.

"Hello, operator? I need to make an international call, please. Yes, I'll hold." He waited as he was transferred to the international operator. "Hello? Ah, yes, thank you. Edinburgh, Scotland, please. No, they'll pick up the bill. Thank you very much."

Tapping his foot restlessly, Flynn could only wait impatiently as his call was transferred overseas. When he finally heard a voice on the other end of the line, he jumped. "Hello? Yes, could you transfer my call to…" he paused, flipping through the sheaf of papers, then rattling off the numbers written on a paper headed by that day's date.

"Yes, yes, thank you very much. Good day." Flynn paused again while the phone rang. A sleepy-sounding male voice finally answered. "Might I ask who is calling?" the voice asked, partially obscured by sleep and a thick brogue. A quick grin flashed across the investigator's face as he imagined Bob Eire on the other side of the line.

"This is Wizard O'Connell. I was told Wizard Jackson had been trying to reach me?" Flynn did his best not to sound agitated.

"Ah, Wizard O'Connell. If you'll give me half a moment, I'll fetch Jackson for you." The phone was set down, and Flynn heard the scuffing of feet on stone. Not long after, the phone was picked up and a new voice came through, with a Welsh accent this time. "Flynn?"

Flynn let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Edmund. I got a note from McCoy saying you had been trying to call me? What did you need?"

"First of all, you need to update your address in our records." Flynn winced. "We've been trying to contact you for weeks, boy. Our phone calls never seemed to go through, and you never responded to our telegrams."

On the American side of the conversation, Flynn frowned. "What do you mean, never went through? Not all of your calls could have come when I was at work? And I never got any telegrams from the Council!"

From the other side of the Atlantic came a snappy retort, "If you gave the Council a real schedule of _when_ you're at work, we'd know for sure." Edmund Jackson sighed. "Look, this is pointless. To make a long story short, the Council had to get a telegram to the closest member we could, who turned out to be Wizard McCoy. Everything had to wait until _he_ could get the message up in his mountains before he could send it to _you_. It would have been easier if any of the Council Members nearby bothered to register their locations with us…but ever since the Great War, security has been very lax. No one bothers to check in any more…"

Flynn cut his old mentor off. "Focus, Edmund. Why were you and the Council trying to contact me?"

"Aye, to the meat of the matter. It would seem that rumors of Kemmler's demise were heavily exaggerated. He's active again, and several of his disciples have disappeared. The Council had heard rumors that at least one of them was headed for New York, and we sent a Warden to investigate. You remember Elizabeth Nin, don't you?"

It took a supreme act of self-control, but Flynn managed not to drop his phone. "Yes, Edmund, I remember her. We were _raised_ together, if you'll recall."

"Yes, but it's been a century and change, boy. Forgive an old man his foibles. Anyway, Warden Nin was put on a three-week trip by boat to New York. That was…four weeks ago. We received word from her by telephone when her boat had just arrived last week, but the call was lost before she could tell us anything else."

Flynn began to tremble.

Edmund's voice took on a tinge of sorrow and compassion. "If you haven't seen her, Flynn, then we don't know what happened to her."

Still shaking, Flynn slowly sunk to the floor of his apartment, his eyes fixed on a nearby news article. The headline "_**Investigation Continues into Dockside Murders**_" dominated his thoughts as he dropped the receiver back onto its cradle.

* * *

><p>AN

Okay, a few notes on Ivory Tower. I'm still trying for the weekly-update schedule, though my health seems to be fighting me every step of the way. My next update should be Friday as I attempt to catch up to the game itself.

Not that it's any excuse, but it ain't easy turning a game into a story. Originally, Flynn and Delilah got along famously and everybody knew what exactly they were. Kenta remained a mystery until Chains of Duty, but everybody had their guesses. Now that I'm novelizing the game, I realize just how eager to start the game we really were. I'm trying to make a group composed of several proud, powerful individuals both reasonable and fun: plus, we kind of hated each other for a while there.

"You seem trustworthy. Would you care to join us on our noble quest?" Rogar the Barbarian

"Yes, yes I would." Ambrose Magellan, sorry

And for those of you who keep asking me when the next chapter comes out: keep up the good work. I actually _**appreciate it**_ when you guys display an interest in the story. So, the more reviews and messages I get, the more likely I am to write, and write quickly. I'm not asking for a bribe, just telling you like it is. This story won't get any better unless I know what you, the reader, enjoy/despise about what I, the author, write.

Remember, bets are still open on what, exactly, Kenta and Delilah are.


	5. Chapter 4: According to Plan

Previously on _Ivory Tower_:

_Flynn began to tremble._

_Edmund's voice took on a tinge of sorrow and compassion. "If you haven't seen her, Flynn, then we don't know what happened to her."_

_Still shaking, Flynn slowly sunk to the floor of his apartment, his eyes fixed on a nearby news article. The headline "_**Investigation Continues into Dockside Murders**_" dominated his thoughts as he dropped the receiver back onto its cradle._

Ivory Tower

Chapter 4: According to Plan

A sharp rapping filled the room. Flynn's eyes shot open, bloodshot and wild. He stumbled to his feet and toward the door, slipping on papers and tripping on bottles the whole way. Finally, he reached the door and managed to croak out, "Just a minute." Mercifully, the pounding stopped.

Flynn reached out a trembling hand and undid the locks on his door, opening it a crack to examine his visitor. A now-familiar broad hat and large coat greeted stood outside his door, ostensibly concealing an aged Asian mercenary.

Beside him, looking impatient, stood Delilah. She wore a shorter dress than usual, and her shoes were far more practical than her usual high-heeled affairs. Most noticeable of all, she no longer wore the elbow-length gloves that he had long thought her identifying fashion-statement. In her hand she clutched a burning cigarette, which she occasionally put to her lips but never inhaled.

The investigator classified her as 'nervous, tense, probably in a poor mood' before swiftly opening the door the rest of the way. The broad hat dipped briefly, seeming to examine him up and down. Flynn glanced down at himself self consciously. He had been up for most of the night searching for clues about Elizabeth, and hadn't bothered to change out of his day clothes. As a result, they were wrinkled, creased, and smelled of alcohol. Looking up, he caught Delilah's amused look before she glanced away primly.

Flynn sighed. "One moment, please." He closed the door abruptly and began cleaning himself up.

A few minutes later, he emerged. He had shaved, changed into fresh clothes, and taken the time to shine his shoes. Throughout the wait, Kenta had neither moved nor spoken. Delilah, though…

The clicking of heels from the entry stairs signaled her return. She wore a furious expression as she bore down on Flynn, another cigarette in hand. She stopped mere inches away from him, pointing the cigarette at him threateningly. "It is impolite to keep a lady waiting, Mr. O'Connell," she declared in icy tones.

He held up his hands defensively. "My apologies, Delilah. I got some…surprising news last night. Didn't sleep well. Are we going to…" he paused, his mind finally catching up with the situation. "Wait, how do you two know where I live?"

Delilah looked smug. "I have my sources of information, Mr. O'Connell. And yes, we are going to go see Mr. Moreno now. It is, after all, almost noon." She frowned at him. "That is, if you are _finally_ ready?"

Kenta snorted faintly, but refrained from further comment when Delilah turned toward him with a fire in her eyes. She turned and began to walk briskly back out of the building, pausing briefly at the stairs to ask, "Are you gentlemen coming?"

Flynn stared after her while remarking to Kenta. "Is she truly angry, or just nervous? After what we faced last night a simple mobster shouldn't seem all _that_ bad to her, right?"

The mercenary chuckled. "Who knows how the mind of a woman works? If the two of us don't know at our age, then man was probably never meant to know at all." Flynn glanced down at Kenta sharply. The old man tilted his hat back far enough for Flynn to see his amused expression before he began walking after their red-headed compatriot.

Flynn followed, wondering just what Kenta really knew. Perhaps it was time to look further into his mysterious companion's nature.

As the trio stepped out onto the busy sidewalk, they missed a flash of gray following behind. The bustle of the city smothered the low, growling noise the creature emitted as it followed them at a distance.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, Miss, but Mr. Moreno said he don't wanna see nobody until his meeting is over. He was very clear on what would happen if somebody was to disturb him and his guest. I ain't exactly heard enough nice things about the bottom of the Hudson to wanna visit, so I think I'd prefer to just do what the boss says. Live longer that way."<p>

Delilah frowned thunderously at the smirking guard, though she took care to turn to the side so he couldn't see her expression. After all the trouble she had gone to tracking down Mr. Moreno's latest apartment and buttering up most of the guards, the _one_ guard she had not met just _had_ to be the one in charge of the front door. And to top it off, he had two things a minion, in her opinion, should never have: a sense of humour and a sense of self-preservation.

Glancing back at her companions, Delilah began to suspect that Kenta was laughing at her. The shoulders of his coat occasionally shook, though she could not see under that damned hat to catch his expression. Flynn, on the other hand, had a concerned expression and seemed about ready to step forward.

Discreetly motioning him to stop, Delilah turned back to the door-guard. Resetting her expression to one of anxiety as she turned, she tried again.

"B-b-but sir! Mr. Moreno's orders were to come straight in and wait on- I mean, for him!" she stuttered, tripping over her words. Her eyes shone with sincerity, and her expression twisted in agonized worry. "Please! I will do anything, but I _have_to see Mr. Moreno right now!" She reached out her hand and lightly touched his wrist.

The smirk left his face as the guard looked down at Delilah. His eyes darkened and he began to nod, but shook himself abruptly.

"Okay, that sounds like Vito- I mean, Mr. Moreno alright, but what about these two?" The guard gestured toward Kenta and Flynn.

Flynn stepped forward. "What with all of the…unpleasantness lately, we thought it best to see to the lady's safety as she went about her…errand."

The guard glanced at the noon sun and the bustling street before quirking an incredulous eyebrow at Flynn.

"Yeah, this 'lady' was in real danger. Alright, Miss, you can go on in. These two stay outside, though." As she opened her mouth to protest, he chuckled roughly. "Don't worry, you'll get them back in more or less the same shape. Now get on in there before you get in trouble with Mr. Moreno."

Delilah did as she was told. She felt more than saw the guard's gaze following her every step into the apartment complex. 'Well,' she thought wryly, 'I knew those two would screw up somehow. I just did not believe that it could have been before we even entered the front door.' She strutted down the hallway toward an elevator, not wanting to bother with stairs when Moreno lived in the top-floor suite. She pushed the call button and hoped that the 'boys' wouldn't do anything rash outside.

* * *

><p>Flynn was trying to strike up a conversation with the door guard. Every time he tried, though, the man would just make some snide remark and then ignore him. Honestly, he was beginning to get more than a little angry.<p>

"So, who do you think will win the next World Series?" Flynn asked, trying one final time to get the man talking.

The guard opened his mouth to put Flynn down again, something silver flipped past the investigator's head. 'Was that an eagle?' He looked back and spotted Kenta pulling his arm back. Something grabbed his coat from the front, and he turned back in surprise.

For a very brief moment, he gazed into the wide eyes of the guard, who was grabbing at his own throat and Flynn's coat. Flynn quickly averted his gaze and moved to assist the man, pounding his back to help clear his throat. After a few moments, the guard stopped moving and fell to the ground, still not breathing.

Flynn turned back to Kenta. "Did you just kill that man with a _quarter_?" He asked, anger intruding itself into his tone.

Kenta stepped forward and kicked the guard between the shoulder blades once, twice. The man suddenly coughed and spat out a round, silvery object with the words "In God We Trust" printed along the middle. He remained on the ground, sputtering and breathing deeply. A quick boot to the head sent him back into oblivion.

"No."

* * *

><p>"Finally!" Delilah sighed. The elevator had taken at least three minutes of her valuable time. She impatiently stepped into the metal box and pressed the button for the uppermost floor. It was time for her to have a word with a man about some ghouls…<p>

Just as the doors began to close, a cane pushed itself between them and pried the doors apart. Flynn stepped through, twirling his cane. Kenta followed after, pausing to tap the elevator. He let out a grunt at the flat 'clunk' sound, and settled into a corner.

Delilah raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask?"

Flynn shrugged. "Entirely up to you, my dear."

They rode the rest of the trip up in utter silence. When the doors finally opened, Delilah took a deep breath.

"Leave the talking to me, gentlemen," she said archly. "If we need to get out the clubs, I'll let you know." The red-headed bombshell sauntered toward the suite's double-doors, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in her dress as she went. Flynn shared a look with the old mercenary beside him before they simultaneously shrugged and stepped off of the elevator.

Delilah knocked on the great doors several times before trying the brass door handles. Finding them locked, she glanced back at her compatriots.

"A little help, here?" she pleaded, eyes wide and shining.

Grumbling about laziness and privilege, Kenta stepped up to the doors. He sketched out 14 brilliant green lines in the air, overlapping and connected. Watching closely, Flynn noticed that there were actually two separate figures hanging in the air, but they vanished before he could look closer. The locks clicked, and the door began to soundlessly swing open under its own weight.

A foul stench began to permeate the hallway. Delilah began to gag, Flynn held a kerchief to his face, and, beneath his broad hat, Kenta's eyes widened in recognition.

"Death, old death." he muttered, drawing looks from both Delilah and Flynn. He forged into the room, gaze sweeping corners and shadows for any possible foes. Flynn, following him, almost ran over the shorter man when he stopped suddenly, pointing to a chair in the sitting room.

Suddenly all business, Flynn lowered the kerchief and stepped into the sitting room to get a better look. There, reclining in an antique chair carved to resemble two lions back-to-back, sat the desiccated husk of a man. Flynn noted that the figure appeared undisturbed, and that it had already entered the fifth stage of decomposition.

Delilah walked into the room and gagged, turning away from the corpse. "How long has he been dead?" she asked. "Weeks? Months?"

Kenta shrugged. "I've seen this before on battlefields. It takes weeks. Maybe a month, maybe two." He shook his head. "This does not make sense."

Flynn heartily agreed. Pulling out a notepad, he began jotting down quick notes, moving around to observe the corpse from different angles. When the sound of the elevator opening drew Kenta and Delilah's attention back to the entry-way, Flynn didn't even flinch. He reached out his handkerchief and took something from the right hand of the body before wrapping it up and shoving it in his pocket.

He straightened in time to hear, from the doorway, "That's weird, the boss said to keep this door closed no matter what. Do you think he's finally gonna come out? I haven't seen him since last night."

Another voice answered, "I guess we should go check and see if he's still inside. If not, he can't be far away."

The first voice protested. "But what if he still doesn't want to be disturbed?"

The two fell to bickering as Delilah turned, wide-eyed to Kenta and Flynn. "We need to get out of here. Now!" she whispered urgently. "If they find us here with this body, they'll tie us to Rothstein and the war will start anyway!"

Flynn quickly re-examined the room, smiling as he noticed the open windows. Taking Delilah's hand, he led her over to the window. Turning to smile at her, he whispered, "Gnáthgaoth" and stepped out onto empty air. Delilah stepped out after him, her face full of wonder.

Kenta came to the windowsill, looking down the 40 feet between him and the ground. He seemed to swoon and took a step away from the window. "I'll find another way, Mr. O'Connell."

Flynn shrugged and began lowering himself and Delilah to the ground. Frowning in concentration, he pronounced "An Modh Orduitheach!"

Kenta watched the two of them waver and disappear before pulling himself back inside of the suite. Still staring outside, he heard the two guards still arguing outside of the suite's front door. He frowned. "Nobody can be that stupid."

"You're right," came a new voice from behind him. "Too late, though." There was a massive explosion, and then nothing.

* * *

><p>Nicholas Jeanetta stepped up to the windowsill and looked down into the alley below. Seeing nothing, he shrugged and blew the smoke away from the muzzle of his 12-gauge. Turning back, he frowned at the corpse sitting in his boss' favorite chair before calling out, "It's okay, boys, he's gone. You can stop arguing now."<p>

Two voices sighed simultaneously in relief. "Catch him by surprise, did you Nick?" one of them asked.

Nicholas smirked. "Little bastard never saw it coming. Slug must'a gone clean through, there was hardly any blood."

The second piped up. "So what do we do now, huh? The boss is still missing, right?"

Nicholas paused, looking at the seated corpse before replying. "Yeah, still missing. Remember, he put me in charge before he went into his meeting…"

* * *

><p>Flynn's face was a mask of concentration. Between maintaining the wind spell that kept them afloat, catching Kenta's body before it hit them, and veiling their movements, he was hard-pressed to remember how to breath, much less cast. At last, he lowered the three of them down to the alley floor, where Delilah immediately rushed to examine Kenta.<p>

Kneeling by the mercenary's side, Delilah reached out to check his neck for a pulse. What she felt was cold and unmoving, with no signs of life at all.

She looked up at Flynn and wordlessly shook her head.

Flynn swore violently, slamming his cane into the ground. The earth rumbled and pitched around him.

"Temper, temper" came a voice from the alley's entrance. When Delilah and Flynn spun around, they saw a short, fat gentleman in a bowler hat standing between them and the main street. Flanking him on either side were a pair of massive ghouls, easily seven feet tall and looking hungry.

"I can't exactly let the two of you roam the city undoing my plans, now can I?" The man snapped his fingers and left the alley, leaving behind his two minions.

Delilah glanced between herself and the obviously fatigued wizard to her left, then at the slowly advancing ghouls. Looking back revealed the alley to be a dead end with a massive brick wall.

The bombshell let out a very un-ladylike word as the two giant ghouls charged.

A/N

…I have been informed by my beta that if I do not put the next chapter online by tomorrow morning, she will strangle me.

Sorry for the short chapter, but this just felt like the perfect place to end it. Look for more tonight or tomorrow morning.

Oh, and please take a look at the poll on my profile. Due to the lack of response, and the 4-way tie, I'm keeping it open for an extra week. This week, I'll just publish two chapters and stand by.

By the way, nobody has guessed what poor Kenta was yet. Very sad.


	6. Chapter 5: The Time Has Come

A/N1 In my defense, I had originally intended to post this last night. The plans of family and my girlfriend, however, tend to override my own.

Previously on _Ivory Tower_:

"_I can't exactly let the two of you roam the city undoing my plans, now can I?" The man snapped his fingers and left the alley, leaving behind his two minions._

_Delilah glanced between herself and the obviously fatigued wizard to her left, then at the slowly advancing ghouls. Looking back revealed the alley to be a dead end with a massive brick wall._

_The bombshell let out a very un-ladylike word as the two giant ghouls charged._

Ivory Tower

Chapter 5: "The Time Has Come", the Walrus Said

Delilah grabbed a nearby chunk of wood and prepared to defend herself from the charging ghouls. At the last minute, she danced to the side, avoiding the first ghoul as it rammed the pile of detritus behind her. It roared and floundered about it the vast, squalid pile before grabbing the brick wall beyond and pulling itself to its feet.

The second ghoul went for Flynn, who slammed his cane into the ground and summoned up a shield of earth to intercept the monster's massive claws. When the ghoul's attack opened up a shallow cut on his chest, he cursed in unison with the wailing of the creature, whose claw was now stuck. Flynn allowed a grim smile to cross his exhausted visage.

Taking advantage of the second ghoul's predicament, Delilah swung her piece of wood with a wild war-cry. She missed. Horribly. Her blow bounced off of the earthen shield and onto…

"Sorry, Flynn!" she stuttered to the prone wizard before turning back to the ghouls. With the wizard's concentration broken, the wall of earth he had raised crumbled back to the alley's floor, freeing the ghoul. So now she was alone and surrounded, with Flynn was on the ground recovering from her terrible aim, and Kenta…

'Wait, where did Kenta's body go?' she thought, eyes darting between her foes. The ghouls took no notice of the disappearing act, instead slowly marching down the alley at their one upright target.

An echoing roar from overhead shook her to the core as something very large and covered in gray fur pounced onto the first ghoul. The monster had just enough time to scream in terror before the newcomer chomped down on the ghoul's neck and shook it like a ragdoll. There was a resounding 'crack' and the ghoul dropped back onto the trash pile, dead.

The ghoul closest to the entrance decided that it wanted out, and turned to run. On its third step a cobblestone raised itself up and tripped the monster, which flew through the air right into a newly-raised stone wall. Though its head proved tougher than the stone and plowed right through, it lacked the momentum for the rest of its body to follow. As the ghoul set its hands to pull its head back, it felt a sharp pain through its torso, and looked down to see a thin blade of steel protruding through the wall.

Flynn dusted his hands off and stepped back. The creature was well and truly trapped, its companion was dead, and Delilah was currently conversing with the fluffy creature on the far side of the alley.

"I can understand why you do not let people know just what you are, Kenta," she chuckled, petting the massive gray cat that had saved her life. "If anyone knew, you would be dodging furriers for the rest of your life. I can imagine you stretched out in front of the Ivory Tower's fireplace. Strange, though; I had thought that most tigers lived in India, not Japan." A rough, growling noise began to fill the alley, and it took her a moment to realize that the creature was purring.

Flynn blinked. To him, the big cat looked familiar. "Um, Delilah? I don't think that's Kenta."

Delilah turned, wide-eyed. "Why would you say that, Mr. O'Connell?"

"Because I recognize my office's resident pest." He stepped forward and scratched under the creature's chin at _just_ the right angle and speed. The gray cat rolled onto its back in ecstasy and began pawing at the air. Soon, it began to shrink, ending up the size of a small kitten. It mewed as Flynn finally stopped lavishing it with attention.

"Jinxie, why didn't you tell us you were magical?"

"Mew!"

Flynn chuckled as he set the tiny kitten on his shoulder.

The sound of cracking stone drew their attention back to the trapped ghoul. It was pushing against the stone, throwing itself back and forth in its attempt to wriggle free. It ignored the sword through its chest, despite the horrific damage its movement caused. Moments later, all motion stopped, and the creature slumped.

Cautiously, Flynn stepped up to stone wall he had raised and grasped his cane-sword by the hilt. When moving it had no effect on the creature, he jerked the blade free of the stone and wiped it clean on a handkerchief. As he finished, the monster's body slid bonelessly to the ground, minus one head.

Delilah continued around the stone wall. There, she saw Kenta stabbing himself in the gut with a long, curved sword. Rather than scream in pain, he merely grunted and pushed the hilt after the rest. Delilah's eyes narrowed as she noticed the lack of metal sticking through the Asian mercenary. At most, there was a hole in his wide coat, with no blood to be seen. Looking to her left, she saw the ghoul's head lying on the ground. She turned it to face her and tried to read its expression. It appeared… terrified?

As if noticing her for the first time, Kenta nodded in her direction. "We clean up the bodies, then leave. I have found us a lead." He stepped up to the stone wall and sketched something onto its surface. It fell backward and rearranged itself back to the form it had had before Flynn's earth magic, burying the ghoul's body beneath the alley's cobbling. Flynn, who had just barely dodged out of range of the slab, raised an eyebrow before doing the same to the other body. He frowned when he tried to get the cobblestones to fit together before finally fixing the puzzle they made. Turning to Kenta's work, he marveled at the ease with which the old man had fitted the cobblestones.

Reading his expression, Kenta grunted. "I may not be as powerful as you anymore, Man of the Council, but experience trumps power." He tilted his head to the side. "Sometimes."

* * *

><p>Back at the Ivory Tower, Delilah pushed the two men out of her office so she could change into something less grimy and blood-covered. Flynn turned to the old mercenary and said, "We should probably sit down. I've got a number of questions for you."<p>

Kenta nodded, and took a seat at one of the empty tables. The Tower did not open for another three hours, so the three of them where the building's only occupants.

Flynn sat down across the table from the other male member of their company. He eyed Kenta's pale features before he began questioning. "Where did you learn to do magic? Obviously you are not a member of the White Council, so who taught you?"

Kenta leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing in thought. "Most of what I know, I taught myself. When I was…found…there was no White Council presence in Japan." Flynn's eyes widened at that. Japan, along with much of the East, had been represented by Ancient Mai for well over two centuries! How old was Kenta?

"The few teachers I had were priests and monks, not sorcerers or wizards," Kenta continued, reaching into his coat to pull out a set of strange symbols on a leather string.

"My first teachers lived in Takachiho-gawara." His fingers moved to the third symbol, a piece of amber in the shape of the sun. Despite looking as carefully as he could, Flynn could discern no chisel-marks its surface.

"Later in life, I learned at the feet of the priests at Izumo-taisha." Here, he tapped a small piece of wood. It appeared to have been carved into the shape of a small, oddly-shaped house, but Flynn could not pick out any tool-marks.

"My final teachers were monks in Hōryū-ji, when it was finally constructed. They taught me little of magic, but a great deal about control." Kenta's hand grasped the middle and largest symbol, an eight-spoked wheel seemingly formed of volcanic glass.

Flynn searched his memory for any reference to those names. Had he heard them before during a Council meeting? He was shaken from his reverie by Kenta's gravelly voice.

"I will answer two more questions for you, Mr. O'Connell. Ask what you will."

Slipping back into his job as an investigator, Flynn began to compile a mental list of questions, rating them by importance. Finally, he asked, "How did you survive being shot so many times? A shotgun to the back of the head is almost universally fatal in my experience."

Kenta nodded and winced lightly, touching the back of his shaved head in thought. "After a… bad experience in my homeland, my skin took on the strength of folded steel. It is fortunate that it did, for not long after that _your_ people came to our shores. Swords were, and are, no more effective than guns against me," here, Kenta reached down and traced a line from armpit to navel, "unless the wielder is either very strong or very, very skilled." He looked back up. "One more question, Mr. O'Connell."

Flynn concentrated. So, Kenta was well trained, experienced, had nearly invulnerable skin. He was old, over two centuries at least, and he had shown some care for the value of human life. What to ask him?

"I'll hold my last question for later, if that's alright with you." Kenta's face twisted, multiplying the wrinkles that covered it, but he nodded.

"I have answered your questions, Mr. O'Connell. Will you answer one for me?" Flynn nodded absently. "Why would a Wizard of the White Council work where you do?"

"The BI?" Flynn asked, eyes widening in surprise. "We've had a couple of cases in the past two years that would never have been solved if Bob Erie and I hadn't been there. Fae killings, sacrifices and rituals: we've stopped some terrible things." His wide eyes took on a faraway look before narrowing on Kenta's face.

"I'm putting my training to good use and protecting those who cannae protect themselves." He finished, tone hardening, accent shifting.

Kenta nodded, but remained silent. The two of them lingered in the silence, waiting for Delilah to emerge.

'Well that was informative,' Delilah thought as she tip-toed back to her office door. She opened it, then closed it loudly before stepping out of the back hallway into the main room.

"I'm ready to get going, gentlemen. Kenta, you said you had a lead for us?" She gauged her voice to be chipper, but still professional. After the heavy topics these two had gone over, the room was filled with the taste of anger, despair, and pain, flavors she had never grown to enjoy.

The older man nodded. "The ghoul I interrogated told me of a job he had taken part in before coming after us. It was a week ago, but perhaps we can use it to trail that fat blob of a sorcerer." Delilah and Flynn both smiled at Kenta's description, though Flynn's was somewhat more strained. He knew of something that had happened just over a week ago, and he hoped to whomever was listening that this was completely unrelated.

"Two of those giant ghouls, along with several of the smaller variety, were sent to the docks to abduct a young woman." Flynn tensed, and he gripped the table in front of him until it groaned.

"The ghouls did not know why they were taking her, but apparently she fought back with magic and sword. They overcame her through sheer numbers and knocked her unconscious, taking her to a truck." The table groaned louder, seeming to plead with Flynn. "No one told the ghouls where they were taking her, but the one we trapped overheard the fat one say 'Kansas.'"

Delilah nodded, taking everything in. She closed her eyes and thought for a moment before asking, "Are you sure he was telling the truth? That ghoul lied to us last night, so why should this one be any different?

All of a sudden, the flavor of the room shifted. Where Delilah once only tasted the fear and anger boiling off of Flynn, she now felt a sharp pang of sorrow. Though no part of his face showed any change, the feeling was obviously coming from Kenta. "I am sure," he said firmly. "He would not have dared lie."

Filing that little comment away for further examination later, Delilah nodded again. "Well, Kansas is a big area, and nowhere close-by. I will mention it to Mr. Rothstein, and maybe he will have some of his other men look into-" she was cut off as a heavy 'boom' filled the room.

Flynn raised his cane from where he'd slammed the ground and pointed it at her. "No, we will look into this ourselves. I have a friend who can get us there in a few hours. We fly to Kansas and find Elizabeth, and the bastard who's been leading all of these attacks." His voice was even and unwavering, but both Delilah and Kenta could feel the raw anger roiling beneath the words.

Delilah stood. "I'll have to okay it with Mr. Rothstein. I'll be right back." She walked back to her office.

Kenta turned back to Flynn. "Elizabeth?" he queried.

"Not…not right now," Flynn gritted out. "We'll talk when we get aboard the plane."

Kenta nodded as Flynn stood and began pacing the room.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Rothstein, Kenta assures me that the ghoul was not lying this time."<p>

A pause. "Well of course I believe him, Mr. Rothstein. You said yourself that you trust the man."

Another pause. "Flynn says he has a way of getting us there within a few hours, so we will only be gone for less than a day. Hopefully, we can find the culprit behind the attacks and clear your name."

Delilah sighed, eyes shadowed as she stared at a photograph on her desk. "Yes, Mr. Rothstein. I know. If things get out of hand, I assure you that I can control the two of them. Completely."

* * *

><p>A black Model-T pulled up to the remote farmhouse. A short, fat man in a bowler hat and suit clambered out before walking up to the front door. Two men in pinstriped suits answered the door and let him in. When they turned around to return to their posts, they suddenly froze, pulled pistols, and pointed them at each others' heads. The fat man walked between them, angling toward the stairs down, before making a short hand motion. The sound of two revolvers firing muffled his descent.<p>

Arriving downstairs, he made a swift motion with his hand. A wave of fire swept out at chest height, instantly killing the only other man in the room. He fell to the floor, hand still grasping for his Thompson.

Stepping up to the chair in the middle of the room, the fat man looked down at the blonde young woman tied and blindfolded there. The tattered remnants of a gray cloak formed her bindings, and she was covered in long-dried blood.

A slow grin crawled across the fat man's face. "Time to go, poppet."

A/N2

Okay, there it is, folks. Again, not as long as I may have liked, but the story ends where it will end. Next chapter is going to be quite a bit longer, with a lot more action.

Oh, and _of course_ the villains are going to be thinking ahead of the party. It annoyed me when we were playing the game, too. Anyway, read and review to tell me what you did/didn't like.

That last question is a freebie for you guys. Pm/review me a question to ask Kenta, and he'll answer it. I'll warn you, though. A simple "what are you" isn't going to get a plain answer: that'd be too easy.

A/N3

Sorry about the multiple updates, guys. FanFic really hates me right now.


	7. Chapter 6: Ashes to Ashes

Previously on _Ivory Tower_:

_Stepping up to the chair in the middle of the room, the fat man looked down at the blonde young woman tied and blindfolded there. The tattered remnants of a gray cloak formed her bindings, and she was covered in long-dried blood._

_A slow grin crawled across the fat man's face. "Time to go, poppet."_

* * *

><p>Ivory Tower<p>

Chapter 6: Ashes to Ashes

When the Wright Brothers performed their well-publicized Kitty Hawk flight, they convinced the world that human flight was no longer a dream of old Italians in stone towers. Others had flown before them, but that 120-foot flight sparked the imaginations of inventors and investors like nothing before. Within 20 years, the aviation industry was booming worldwide. Zeppelins, blimps, and fixed-wing aircraft repeatedly defied gravity to bring mankind into the sky. In time, a college dropout from Texas would claim the reins of the aviation industry, but on September 4th, 1926, Billy Steele was still king of the runway.

The founder of Steele Industries, William Steele, Sr., had seen the possibilities in powered flight, and put all of his drive, funding, and effort into building one of the first aircraft-empires. His empire, operating out of its New York headquarters, spread from coast to coast.

His son, William Steele Jr., had always been obsessed with flight and, thanks to his father's business acumen; had plenty of runways and planes to practice on. In no time at all, "Billy" Steele was one of the best aviators in the world.

It was to this headquarters that Flynn directed a cab. Stepping out, he beheld massive hangars and long airstrips lined with aircraft large and small. He turned to catch the expressions of his companions.

Kenta looked dumbstruck, turning slowly in place to behold the technological marvels. Delilah maintained her haughty and aloof expression, but her eyes and posture spoke of her awe.

"Never been to an airfield, have you?" Flynn asked, spirits momentarily lifted. His companions shook their heads. "Billy tells me that trains are for the last century, and boats are for the century before." He chuckled. "I'd never felt so old before."

He led the others over to the smallest building on the runway, a sturdy brick one-story with several large windows. Raising his cane, he smartly rapped on the front door.

"Come on in," came the muffled reply. Flynn opened the door and gestured the two of them inside.

Delilah stepped inside the squat building. She glanced around the room at the the many pictures of planes, in flight or on the ground, eyes finally settling on the large desk towards the back of the room. Seated behind the desk, facing away from the front door, was an athletic young man in practical clothing. As he turned to face them, Delilah's eyes roved over his well-defined musculature, his rumpled hair, and the million-dollar smile he was flashing. She had him categorized under 'roguish, charming, and very young' before he had even finished standing to greet them.

"Welcome, welcome. Flynn, I'm glad you told me you were coming. I had time to clear my schedule." The young man strode up to the BI investigator, vigorously pumping his hand. Turning to Delilah, he remarked to Flynn, "Now, you old coot, why don't you introduce me to this gorgeous dame?" He bowed and, taking her hand, kissed it gently.

She laughed indulgently. "My, my. Quite the charmer, aren't you, Mr. Steele?" Since he was already touching her, this next part should be very easy indeed…

Steele straightened suddenly as if electrified, his cheeks reddening. Flynn rolled his eyes and carried on with the introductions. "Billy, this is Delilah James, operator of the Ivory Tower down in the City. Delilah, this is Billy Steele, one of the finest aviators and most eligible young bachelors in America."

Instead of being further embarrassed by his introduction, Steele puffed out his chest a little. "True, very true." Delilah laughed gaily at the display, covering her mouth with a lacy handkerchief in an attempt to stifle her humor.

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes again, Flynn gestured toward Kenta, who was absorbed in examining the pictures along the office walls. "That is Kenta, a…" he paused, thinking of a tactful way of describing the old man's line of work.

"Soldier of fortune." Kenta finished, turning to face the others and aiming a short bow in Steele's direction. "It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Steele. I have heard of your courage and skill from Flynn."

Steele blinked at Kenta's formal tone. Turning to Flynn, he whispered, "Where did you pick this one up? He sounds like my grandfather…" his voice trailed off as Kenta removed the obscuring hat. "Oh."

Flynn chuckled briefly. Suddenly, he remembered that he wasn't here to visit good friends. "Billy, I've got a favor to ask of you."

Billy brightened up, rubbing his hands together. "What can I do for you, Mr. Inspector?"

"I need to get to Kansas. As close to the center as possible. We're looking for…" his voice caught. He swallowed, "…a friend." he finished.

Billy looked confused, but nodded anyway. "Sure thing, pal. I'll fly you there myself. My father just had an airfield built near Salina. Might be a little rough, but with me on the throttle, everything'll be fine." He grinned at his three guests. Delilah's smile faltered briefly, and Kenta was already turning slightly green.

* * *

><p>"You guys alright back there?"<p>

"…Mr. Steele, I bow to your greater understanding of flight, but is it _absolutely necessary_ to hit _every_ pocket of 'turbulence' between New York and Kansas?"

"Hrmph!"

"Don't worry, Kenta, we'll be touching down soon. Just close your eyes and think of…swords?"

* * *

><p>By the time Billy landed the four-seater in the flattened patch of dirt he called "Air Salina Central", Kenta had gone from fish-belly white to a worrisome green. Flynn, seated behind him on the plane, was the first to touch ground and seek cover. Delilah, unsure of what was going on, leapt from the plane and landed lightly on the dirt runway before moving off rather swiftly. The two of them observed as Kenta tipped himself over the side of the airplane and crashed into the ground, headfirst. Billy, seeing this, jumped from his plane and rushed to the old man's side.<p>

The industrialist was obviously shaken, kneeling and shaking the old man. "Kenta, Kenta? Are you alright? Can you hear me?" He partially turned toward Delilah and Flynn, neither of whom had moved. "What are you waiting for? Go…" he stopped as something grabbed his wrist. He froze, gaping, as Kenta stood up and cracked his neck.

The aged mercenary's hand gripped a fistful of dirt, and Flynn noted that his color had vastly improved. "Mr. O'Connell, are you so sure we can find what we are looking for? This land feels…vast." Kenta asked as he stood up.

Flynn gritted his teeth, but nodded. Taking his cane, he drew a large circle on the ground and stepped inside. As Delilah and Kenta watched, fascinated, he knelt down in the very center and began drawing runes all around himself. Billy watched until boredom moved him toward the lonely wooden shack currently standing in place of a proper hangar.

* * *

><p>Flynn O'Connell finished sketching out his circle of Finding. As he knelt, he considered each of the runes. Biting his thumb, he reached over and dropped some blood on the confining circle, pushing his will into it, closing him off from the rest of the world.<p>

Settling back, he began to focus. He allowed the impatience he had been feeling since Elizabeth had gone missing to fill him, fed by each delay and every minute not spent finding her. Passing his still-bleeding hand over a set of runes, he declared in a loud voice, "Ardtábhacht!" The runes began to glow a fiery red as he poured the _urgency_ of his call into them.

He grimaced at the pull on his magic. Moving on to the second set of runes, he prepared himself. All of a sudden, all of the fear he had been carrying for days washed over him. Fear that she was already dead, fear that he was too slow, fear that she would die because of _his_ failure. He allowed his fear to flow through him before he imposed his will upon it, face twisting in effort as he bent it into the runes before him. "Sioctha le heagla" he barked, voice shaking. The runes he had just bled upon began to emit a deep green light.

Again, Flynn's spell pulled at his magic. The air within the circle felt thick with power, and he had to fight as he turned toward the final set of runes. His impatience and fear were drained, leaving only exhaustion and one, final feeling.

He focused on his memories of Elizabeth. Meeting as children to be taught the ways of magic, growing together as they discovered their power and learned to control it. Her bold curiosity had pulled him from the gloom of his past. The day they were presented before the White Council as Edmund Jackson's apprentices, he had clung to her for strength under the stern gazes of ancient and terrible men. The day they were recognized as full members of the White Council, she had drawn him aside…

For over fifty years, they had been the best of friends and the closest of lovers. When she had decided to join the Wardens, he had been heartbroken. Since then, they had stayed in contact, but it had been over ten years since they'd last spoken face to face.

He pushed aside his rising regret and focused instead on the love he felt for Elizabeth Nin. He recalled the things they had shared, the years they spent together, and allowed that love to fill him completely. Pulling out a pocketknife, he reopened the cut on his thumb and bled on the last set of runes, whispering, "Grá". A brilliant blue erupted from the rune beneath his hand.

Utterly spent, he had enough energy to set down the intended focus, a lock of blonde hair, before breaking the circle. The runes exploded into the air around him, spinning and growing smaller until they settled on the blonde tress in front of him and disappearing. The focus glowed brightly before softening to a dull yellow fluorescence.

Kenta stepped over and helped the wizard to his feet. Flynn nodded his thanks and retrieved the locket. He felt its gentle pull leading him away, off of the unfinished airfield and into the nearby cornfields.

"That way," he gasped out, pointing with a shaking hand. Delilah slipped under his shoulder, supporting the exhausted man while Kenta went off to let Billy know that they had a heading.

Not long after the old man had walked into the wooden hangar, a roar resounded from within. The doors burst open and a silver Model T burst through, engine roaring in a manner totally unbefitting of the vehicle. The car pulled up alongside the waiting pair and screeched to a halt.

Billy grinned from the driver's seat. "Ford sent a couple of these to my father for Christmas. This one needed some work, so we left it out here. Good thing, eh?" He reached back and tapped the expanded back seat. "Get your chassis in here!"

* * *

><p>The car flew along the road, followed by a massive dust cloud. Flynn sat, recovering, in the front seat. The focus tugged him ever onward, growing stronger as they drove.<p>

In the back, Delilah turned to Kenta. "So, could you have done that tracking spell? It seems to have taken a great deal out of Mr. O'Connell."

Kenta shook his head. "I would need a focus. He is the only one who knows this 'Elizabeth', so only he could have such a thing. And…" he trailed off as Flynn suddenly straightened up and pointed.

"There, down that turn. She's there."

Billy pulled up to an abandoned farmhouse. Flynn was frowning at his focus, which suddenly felt leaden and sluggish. Still, he stepped out with Delilah and Kenta. The three of them stood in front of the dilapidated structure for a few moments before Billy remarked, "Well, I'm gonna take this thing for a quick trip around, search for tire tracks and whatnot. Good luck with the creepy house."

He gunned the engine and peeled off around the side of the house. There, he noticed a dust cloud rising off in the distance, leading away from the house. He glanced back, but decided to check this lead on his own. Flynn said this was the place, and Billy trusted the magic-wielding Bureau of Investigation employee to know what he was talking about.

* * *

><p>Flynn muscled through the front door, cane-sword out and ready for use. Behind him, Delilah and Kenta cautiously entered. They found Flynn kneeling by two blood-covered bodies wearing suits, his free hand checking for a pulse. He looked up and shook his head.<p>

"No pulse, but the bodies are still warm. I'd say that they're less than an hour old." The investigator stood and hurried through the house, eyes sweeping the rooms for any clues, any sign of his target. He spotted a bloody smudge on the top of the stairs, as if someone coming up had wiped their shoe.

Kenta shared a glance with Delilah before heading up the stairs to the second floor. She, in turn, headed for the basement stairs, where Flynn stopped her. He gestured to the bloody smudge, and grinned tightly when she stepped back and motioned him to go in front.

Flynn carefully descended, alert for any surprises. The first thing he saw when he arrived in the basement was a corpse, similar in dress to those above. The only other object in the room was a stout wooden chair, with scraps of gray cloth still bound on the front legs.

With a scream of rage, Flynn ran forward and kicked the chair to splinters. Delilah watched in shock as the normally-suave and gathered man began going through every oath or curse available to English before dipping into another, harsher language.

Delilah thought about trying to calm him down, but… 'Let him work his rage out now,' she thought, 'that way he can focus when it truly matters. I simply cannot believe we only missed her by an hour. Or that we _still_ have not found out who is in charge of those attacks!' A sudden rumble that she felt in her bones interrupted her inner monologue. A few seconds passed, and then it happened again, falling into a rhythm.

'Thoom-thump, thoom-thump, thoom-thump' it sounded, shaking the house ever so slightly. Her brow wrinkled. 'Is Kenta doing something strange again? Or…' her thoughts were again derailed as she watched the 'corpse' raise a hand and grab at the still-swearing wizard's ankle. He yelped in surprise and kicked the hand away, stabbing the 'corpse' repeatedly with his cane sword.

The thing began to crawl towards Flynn, pulling its thinly-connected lower-half after it. Flynn finally noticed the wide burn that had almost cut the man in two. His eyes narrowed, but he pushed the implications to the back of his mind as he focused on killing this thing…again. Providence came in the form of Delilah, who swung a rusty spade taken from the basement's wall and crushed the thing's skull. The rest of the body flailed around until Delilah smote it several more times with her spade, snapping bones and eventually severing both arms.

Looking up, he caught a flash of boiling silver in her gaze before she began ascending the stairs. Flynn would have been hard-pressed to keep up with her, but did his level best after grabbing a gray scrap of cloth from the wreckage of the chair.

The two of them arrived upstairs to find Kenta waiting for them, bloody sword in hand. Behind him, the two corpses they'd first noticed were completely dismembered, though still twitching.

"Jiang-shi," he explained shortly, "the walking dead." Flynn nodded. He had seen action in the First World War against the dead raised by Kemmler, and he knew just how to take them down.

Glancing at Delilah, he said, "Destroy the whole thing, or take off its limbs. They're faster and stronger than normal humans, and completely tireless. So long as there aren't too many of them, we'll be…" He paused in the act of opening the door. There, down the gravel driveway, was a wave of figures charging toward the house. Within the house, he heard the telltale sounds of breaking glass and fracturing boards. A more ominous sound intruded upon his sharpened senses: the sound of axes on wood.

"Out of the house! Now!" he bellowed, grabbing Kenta and hauling him out the front door, Delilah outside almost before the two of them had hit dirt. Rolling forward, he spotted an undead woodsman in flannel on each corner of the house, chopping through the supports with abandon.

Flynn stood and took stock of their situation. More than fifty individuals were charging at them from the front, some armed with farm tools, others with superhumanly-strong fists. Behind them, the house collapsed with a deafening noise. To either side, there was nothing but cornfields as far as the eye could see.

Abruptly, he knelt and began sketching in the dirt. "Kenta, Delilah: hold them off. Give me as long as you can." Without another word, he began gathering his magic. Delilah took up a position directly behind Flynn, prepared to defend him. She limbered up with her spade, silver eyes flashing and pale skin resembling carven stone in the Midwestern sun.

Kenta snorted from the ground to which he had been thrown. He stood, bones creaking, and stripped off his outer coat. It hit the ground with a sound much like the recently fallen house. With four swift motions, he threw one small knife into each axe-wielding walking corpses behind Flynn. One softly-spoken word later, all four toppled into six separate pieces, the knives now formed into impossibly-thin razors. These razors melted into puddles of silver liquid and flowed across the ground to climb Kenta's legs.

He began moving toward the cresting wave of undead, stepping out in front of the concentrating wizard before sprinting into the teeth of his foe. Delilah watched as limbs began flying into the air. 'God, it is a good day to have minions. And the best part: I am not the one who has to pay him!'

Kenta engaged many of their attackers, but a full ten broke off from the mob and charged Delilah and Flynn. Delilah growled before swinging her weapon in a wide arc, the weapon blurring through the air as it beheaded three of her foes. They responded by biting, punching, and stabbing at her with whatever was on hand. She dodged most of their attacks, matching their inhuman speed with her own, but more than once, pale red blood flew alongside sluggish black. All the while that thunderous booming continued, shaking the earth and mocking her efforts.

She managed to knock her foes back with a powerful stroke, but barely managed to catch her breath before they stood back up. Of the seven who had lived to combat her, two were still standing. Her dress was torn, her left arm was completely useless and hemorrhaging pale blood, and her makeup was completely ruined.

"Mr. O'Connell, now would be good!" she called, her voice bearing little of its usual honeyed warmth. Her remaining opponents suddenly charged her from the sides. She dodged, swinging blindly, the shaft of her weapon colliding with something hard. With a mighty snap, the ancient spade gave finally up the ghost: the top half flew away and lodged itself in the head of her second foe, while the remainder simply splintered and disintegrated in her grasp. Fortunately, the spade's final blow taken out both of her remaining enemies. Unfortunately, she was now unarmed.

Looking around, she saw that Kenta had mostly cleaned up the mob of undead. She watched as he hacked through his enemies, accepting many small hits to deliver cleaving strikes that removed limbs and heads. When the last of them had fallen, he began walking back toward them, each step stiff and obviously painful.

He stopped next to her, looking down at Flynn, who still had yet to move. "I believe the danger has past, Mr. O'Connell." He paused, grimacing, and pressed a hand to his side. "I have grown old…" he muttered to himself. Every beat of that booming rhythm sent a spark of pain through his side.

Delilah, meanwhile, was fighting another battle, this time against herself. Her Hunger had reared its ugly head, and her damaged body begged to be restored. Flynn started to look very tasty.

The sound of vegetation being trampled startled both of them out of their musings. Looking up, they spotted not less than a hundred more figures rushing toward them from either side of the house, stomping through corn at incredible speeds.

Delilah took a moment to examine their situation. She could barely fight at all, and Kenta wasn't looking much better. All of their hopes rested on a catatonic wizard.

* * *

><p>Flynn, meanwhile, had been seeking the source of their opponents. He sent his magic into the earth, bending all of his power to the task. After several minutes of frantic searching, he felt it: a hole in reality, from which both the thundering rhythm and the mobs of undead emerged. He had found the source. Now, he had to close it.<p>

Once more, he gathered up his power. The portal was nearly a mile away, and he had neither the time nor the materials for a ritual. Two centuries of experience told him that what he was about to attempt was impossible. His will to live made him try it anyway.

In the world outside of his mind, Kenta and Delilah were again startled as Flynn roared. He began to sweat heavily, and his body tensed up as if it were being struck by lightning.

A presence beyond the portal was fighting back…and it was stronger than he was. Stronger, and closer. Trying to force the tear closed at this distance was like trying to lift a battleship, and the presence on the other side was a firm anchor. And while the two struggled, more and more enemies came through the portal.

Suddenly, it came to him: why destroy the portal at all? Gathering what remained of his energy, he nudged the earth in front of the portal up. The next undead to emerge from the portal found itself running headlong into a thick stone slab.

Flynn chuckled to himself. 'I can almost feel the rage from here. Whoever that is can close and reopen the portal, but that will take time and energy.' Speaking of energy, Flynn was almost out. He emerged, gasping, into the real world to see Delilah bludgeoning a man back to death with a severed arm.

* * *

><p>Kenta was all but exhausted. As he cut through the charging hordes, he catalogued his injuries.<p>

'Broken left arm, cracked femur, cracked ri-" he grunted as one of the walking dead slammed an axe into his side. 'Snapped ribs' he mentally corrected himself. Still, he fought on silently, glancing behind whenever he had breathing space. Flynn was still unmolested, and Delilah fought on, despite her obvious blood loss.

There was a sudden lull in the combat as the horde suddenly stopped and began milling around aimlessly. Some of the jiang-shi began fighting one another, and others began charging off into the horizon. It took him a moment to realize that the thundering rhythm had stopped. He slowly walked backwards until he stood next to Flynn's still-unresponsive body. Sparing a glance back at Delilah, he saw her similarly confused. 'Why have they stopped attacking us? Could it be tied in with that drumming?'

His answer came when the booming noise began again, and the jiang-shi turned as one to face him. "One hundred and fifty," he remarked. Rolling his shoulders, he winced as his body let him know just how battered it had become.

"Gotta kill 'em all," came an unexpected voice from behind. Flynn stood up carefully, almost tipping over. He glanced around, surprised at the amount of gore and blood scattered within the yard. His eyes took in his blood-spattered companions. "And now, I suppose, it is my turn." He began chanting under his breath.

The honking of a car horn drew their attention behind the rubble of the house. A silver automobile screeched around the corner and plowed through a dozen bodies before pulling up alongside them. A bleeding Billy Steele shouted, "Get in the car!" just as Flynn finished his spell.

"Infernus!"

* * *

><p>A dark figure swore violently as it watched from afar. Steele mowed through burning, but still upright, bodies. The American let out a triumphant whoop as the car made it to freedom.<p>

"Enjoy your petty victory. It will not matter in the end." The figure turned and looked into the tear-streaked eyes of Elizabeth Nin. "Will it, fräulein?"

* * *

><p>AN

The word 'zombie' didn't make it to the US until around 1950. The Japanese and Chinese don't actually have zombies: the closest thing is the Jiang-shi, the 'hopping vampire.' And the Celts never had a word, aside from the Norse draugar, 'barrow wights'.

Anyway, here is Chapter 6, with Chapter 7 well under way. Ivory Tower is actually a rather short adventure, and we're only about three chapters from the grand finish. I'm working on my ability to write interesting fight-scenes, so RxR to let me know how I'm doing. The more you tell me, the better the final fights will be.

Oh, and you get a cookie if you caught the Pokémon reference the first time through.


	8. Chapter 7: Wheeling and Dealing

Previously on _Ivory Tower_:

_A dark figure swore violently as it watched from afar. Steele mowed through burning, but still upright, bodies. The American let out a triumphant whoop as the car made it to freedom._

_"Enjoy your petty victory. It will not matter in the end." The figure turned and looked into the tear-streaked eyes of Elizabeth Nin. "Will it, fräulein?"_

* * *

><p>Ivory Tower<p>

Chapter 7: Wheeling and Dealing

The flight back to New York was uneventful. Flynn was unconscious after his last spell. Delilah was delirious from blood-loss, and fell unconscious herself once they arrived at the airfield. Kenta loaded both of them into the aircraft before clambering in himself.

By the time they had landed, Delilah had recovered enough to stop Billy from driving them to the hospital. "The Ivory Tower, if you please," she stated, exhaustion hanging on every syllable. Billy had been uncertain, but had complied anyway.

So, the three of them were safe in Delilah's office. Flynn had used the hours-long flight to sleep and meditate, and Delilah's nature caused her to recover from her own wounds preternaturally quickly. The two of them quickly began arguing over the next course of action as the wrinkled mercenary looked on.

"Mr. O'Connell, we flew halfway across the country for nothing. Not only did we _not_ find your Warden there, but what we _did_ find immediately tried to kill us! We gained no leads, no intuition: in fact, we gained nothing but another near-death experience to add to a growing list. How am I supposed to explain this to Mr. Rothstein?" Delilah leaned over her desk, both hands flat on its surface as she glared at the investigator.

Flynn stood on the other side of the desk, returning her glare without meeting her gaze. "We learned a great deal more than nothing, Miss James." He sat down and brought out his notepad. He began writing.

"First, we have clues about who our villain is," he wrote out 'Suspects'. "That encounter in the alley after finding Vito Moreno's…corpse. The ghouls are mercenaries, so anybody could have hired them. But that English chap, "he flipped the notepad to a sheet and rattled off a description. "Five feet, four inches tall. Accent places him from lower London. He commanded the ghouls, which makes him an important figure in this 'war'. Might even make him the boss."

Delilah nodded for him to continue, fury dying as curiosity took over. "Meanwhile, we didn't run into any ghouls in Kansas. What we did run into were undead, the obvious work of a necromancer. A particularly powerful one, to control that many corpses. I felt a portal into the Nevernever almost a mile from the farmhouse, which is where all of them came from. I don't know exactly how much power it would take to open such a portal and then control that many undead from the other side, but…" he shrugged, "it's more than I can muster."

Pausing to let that sink in, he flipped back to the 'Suspects' page. "So, we come to a question: any necromancer with that much power could have squashed us in an instant in that alley. So why didn't he?" He wrote out 'necromancer?' next to 'fat Brit' and tapped it thoughtfully. "The Council sent Elizabeth here to look for one of Kemmler's apprentices. Our necromancer is more than likely that apprentice."

He looked up to see Delilah wide-eyed and pale. Kenta looked from the wizard to the White Court in confusion. "Who is this 'Kemmler'. Why are you so concerned about his students? Are they so very strong?"

It was Flynn's turn to go wide-eyed as he turned to Kenta. "You, you don't know who Kemmler is?" he asked. Kenta shook his head, and Flynn took a deep breath. "Kemmler is one of the most powerful wizards alive. He's certainly the most knowledgeable and powerful necromancer of today, possibly in the entirety of history. He's terrorized Europe for decades, and he practically ran the Great War. More than once he's faced off against the entire Senior Council and walked away. It took the combined efforts of every war-capable wizard on the Council to put him down during the War, and now it looks like we didn't actually succeed." He grimaced as the memories came flooding back. "If his apprentices are one-tenth as powerful as he is, then New York may be in greater danger than we had imagined."

Silence reigned.

* * *

><p>Delilah pondered how to break the news to Mr. Rothstein. The fact that there was now a world-class wizard manipulating affairs in New York City did not bode well for the mortals attempting to do the same. Any action taken against him would just increase the number of corpses available for reanimation. But corpses were not in short supply anywhere these days. So why New York?<p>

Flynn searched for connections to give the case some substance. Motive? Unknown. Target? Well, that would be the liquor shipments, according to Delilah. This unknown mastermind attacks had already set the bosses of New York at each other's' throats, providing him with plenty of fresh corpses. But just what was he doing with them? And why did the Brit never use the undead? Ghouls were mercenaries, which meant you had to pay them somehow: you never have to pay an undead soldier.

Kenta was lost in thoughts of the past. An old witch, cunning and powerful, who had once roamed the seediest streets of his home looking to chain the souls of the recently-dead, binding them to her will. It had been decades before he had finally run her down. By that time, she commanded thousands of ghosts and ruled the back-streets of the capital with an iron fist. Was history repeating itself?

"The Brit isn't our necromancer." The speakeasy owner and the mercenary both looked up, startled from their own ruminations. Flynn's eyes had brightened, and he stood and paced the small room agitatedly. "Fact one: he didn't immediately kill us in the alley. If he were our miniature Kemmler, he could have done it without a second thought." Kenta snorted at this.

"Fact two: the ghouls. Why have the hairy, slavering beasts roaming the city doing his dirty work instead of the silent walking corpses? It doesn't make too much sense, unless the Brit can't control the latter." He sat down abruptly, rubbing his temples.

Delilah spoke up, brow furrowed. "Very well, Mr. O'Connell, I can accept that. So is our fat friend working for the apprentice, or on his own?"

"We'll have to assume that the two are in league," Flynn replied, then growled softly. "But we don't have enough evidence to tie them together definitively. What are we missing?" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

Kenta stood up and walked over to Delilah's desk. With quick motions he swept everything off to the side, ignoring her protests, and slammed both palms flat onto its surface. Metal slid down his arms and formed a broad, flat plain along the surface of the desk. He raised one hand, and a square structure began to rise, stopping at around chest-level. He repeated the process with his other hand, then pointed at the narrow alley between the two metal structures.

Flynn's eyes lit up. Stepping up to the desk he pointed at the alley. "Our first encounter with the ghouls?" At Kenta's nod, Flynn began rubbing his hands together.

"Let's recreate the scene." Soon, metal figures resembling the three of them and their ghoulish attackers appeared. Tiny metal pellets flew from the ghoul figures and impacted the figurine resembling Kenta, which absorbed them and fell backwards. Flynn then directed the attack on the ghouls, ending with the last ghoul detonating into dozens of miniscule metal shards.

Delilah watched with a puzzled expression until the men were finished, then asked, "And what does this tell us, gentlemen?"

Flynn tore himself away from the battle and shook himself. "Yes, what it tells us…" he paused, searching his brain. "Why did they attack the Ivory Tower in the first place? That's where they were headed before they were spooked."

He turned and leveled his gaze on Kenta. "Which reminds me, Kenta. Every time we've run across ghouls, they've been actively terrified of you. The one you were bending over before he exploded," he gestured toward the metal buildings, where dozens of shards were being absorbed into 'floor', "as well as the one you interrogated in the alley. And I seem to recall the sight of you putting the four of them to flight in the first place. Just what did you do to terrify them so much?"

"I will count that as your question, Mr. O'Connell." Kenta's voice was softer than usual, and carried overtones of deep sorrow. "These mercenaries are not so terrified of what I have done. It is what I _am_ that brings them such fear."

Flynn paused, waiting for more. When nothing more seemed forthcoming, he prompted, "Which is?"

"You are out of questions, Mr. O'Connell."

The investigator swore softly, and heard Delilah doing the same under her breath. "Okay, let's get back on track." He pointed at the alley again. "That one ghoul blamed the attack on Vito Moreno just before he detonated. We arrived at Vito's place to find him long dead, and we were forced to escape out the window. There, a short man with a British accent set two gigantic ghouls on us."

The scene began to play out again, a wall rising up to form a dead end in the alley as two figures were slowly lowered from a window, with a second falling out shortly afterward. Mini-Delilah and mini-Flynn fought off the giant ghouls that appeared before a large metal cat pounced from a nearby rooftop. Flynn smiled and pulled up a chair.

"Alright, this is where Kenta finds out about Elizabeth being kidnapped and taken to Kansas. We left, hoping to find her and her captors and wrap up the whole case. Billy flew us there, and I tracked down the farmhouse in which she was kept, but by the time we got there she had been moved. We were attacked by around 200 undead over the next ten minutes before I managed to stop their arrival through a portal. Then Billy provided us with an escape, and we returned here to New York."

The investigator pulled out his notebook and, setting it on his thigh, began writing rapidly, scribbling figures and scratching out words as he flipped from page to page. His pen flew faster and faster until, with a snap, the tip broke off and spilled ink everywhere. Swearing, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his handkerchief to mop up the mess. As he pulled it out, something fell out of the kerchief and hit the floor. Bending over, he reached out a hand to grab the small object, but pulled back suddenly. He stood suddenly and whirled on Delilah. "Exactly how hard did you hit me," he asked, rubbing the back of his head.

Delilah blinked twice before reddening. "In the alley? Rather hard, Mr. O'Connell. I did apologize, you know."

Shaking his head, Flynn used his handkerchief to grab the object off of the floor. Setting the cloth-wrapped object gingerly on the desk, he gestured to Kenta. "Can you escort Mr. Rothstein and Lucky here immediately?" he asked, and the mercenary nodded, reforming the metal up his sleeves before setting out. "Delilah, may I steal your office for a short while?" Startled, Delilah slowly nodded before exiting.

Alone, Flynn sat and reached for the phone. He had some very important calls to make before this puzzle could be solved.

* * *

><p>Out in the Tower, Delilah busied herself greeting regulars and welcoming newcomers to her establishment. Though still early in the evening, the Tower was packed with people eagerly drinking their troubles away. That particular thought reminded Delilah of her own Hunger, still pulling on her attention.<p>

"Miss Delilah!" Ah, finally. A resolution for her peculiar problem. She turned toward the voice and said, "Mr. Jeffs, how very good to see you." She accepted the flower her long-time admirer offered. Smiling demurely, she rested her other hand on his.

Carl's eyes clouded over with a familiar emotion, and his breath hitched. "D-d-do you fancy a walk, Miss James?" He stuttered out, hand shaking as it reached for a bracing drink.

Her hand intercepted his on its way toward the brandy. "Of course, Mr. Jeffs. Why, you should know this neighborhood very well, should you not? I believe you once told me your apartment was nearby…"

* * *

><p>Flynn set the phone back onto its cradle, a grim smile forming on his lips. At least some of the puzzle pieces were falling into place.<p>

The front door opened, and a vision of absolute loveliness floated through. Her eyes flashed silver, her skin was flushed, her dress, different from the one she had been wearing earlier, clung to her figure in all the best places. Her every step challenged the wizard to step up and throw himself at her, to debase himself to her every whim. Flynn reached a hand out toward this ivory idol slowly gliding toward him…and slammed it on the table. Hard.

"Miss James," he gritted out, hand throbbing, "would you kindly _stop that_?"

The dreamy expression slid off of her face. "Apologies, Mr. O'Connell. It was entirely unintentional." Suddenly, it was as if a great weight had left the room. Flynn drew a deep breath and rubbed his aching hand.

"Thank you." The wizard turned back to the spread of papers on the desk and rearranged several of them. When Delilah leaned over his shoulder to examine his work, she could make no sense of the scribbles and calculations.

"What on Earth does all of this mean, Mr. O'Connell?" she asked, arching a delicate eyebrow.

The wizard smirked. "All in good time, Delilah. Like when Mr. Rothstein arrives. Where are they, anyway?"

The White Court and the wizard turned to the door expectantly, as if that question were the trigger for the mercenary's arrival. When nothing happened, they both shrugged. "That always works in the detective novels," Flynn joked. Delilah chuckled.

A sudden knocking on the door-frame interrupted the merriment. Delilah opened the door, and Kenta stalked through. Close behind came a tired-looking Arnold Rothstein, followed by Luciano. Luciano looked as though he had been interrupted mid-revel, and his face was graced with at least three different shades of kisses. At Delilah's look, he grinned and began wiping the lipstick off with a handkerchief.

All eyes turned to Rothstein as he began to speak. "Delilah, I've had at least five attacks on my warehouses in the past twenty-four hours, to say nothing of what's happening to the other bosses. Please say you know who's behind all of this." His eyes bored into hers, exhaustion warring with worry in his expression.

Delilah, in turn, looked to Flynn. The investigator stood and gestured Rothstein to the chair. "You'll want to sit down for this one, sir."

* * *

><p>"Let me get this straight. One of your world's craziest wackos sent a lackey over to New York to raise hell? And this lackey is raising people from the dead to kill off more people so he can raise <em>them<em> from the dead?" Lucky Luciano was understandably confused. A few days earlier, the world had made sense. You work smart, play by the rules you have to, make friends in the right places, and come out on top. Now he found his world crowded with wizards, ghouls, walking corpses, and other assorted fairytale creatures.

Flynn sipped at the drink Delilah had thoughtfully provided and nodded. "That's it in a nutshell, Mr. Luciano. Kemmler's apprentices are some of the most terrifying wizards out there, and the White Council says one of them came here. We're still not clear on why, exactly, but we'll figure that out later. Right now, we just need to find him and…" he paused.

"Kill him," Kenta finished.

Flynn shook his head. "I don't think any of us has the power necessary to bring him down." He gestured toward the calculations on Delilah's desk. "The amount of power it would take to open that portal from _inside_ the Nevernever is beyond tremendous. Several members of the Senior Council working together _might _be able to do it, which makes me somewhat wary of our chances."

"This apprentice…you said he might be that smarmy Brit from earlier?" Luciano asked.

Flynn looked down at his notes and frowned. Seeing his expression, Luciano sighed. "You don't know?"

"Mr. O'Connell." Everyone looked behind the desk as Rothstein rose from his chair. "You offered your assistance in solving this mystery. I accepted that offer because we dearly needed the help then. We're on the verge of open war on the streets now. If you know anything that could help solve this…hell, if you can _guess_ at something that will help us, now's the time. It's time for the parlor scene, Sherlock."

* * *

><p>Flynn drew a deep breath and began pacing. "Our first alley encounter. Four ghouls attacked us after we followed them from the Ivory Tower. At the time, we were convinced that they were after the Tower itself. But what if they weren't?<p>

When I got back to my apartment that night, I was contacted by the White Council. They told me that a Warden had gone missing, and that they'd been trying to contact me for weeks. I was too distracted by the fact that Elizabeth was missing to think about it at the time, but how could they not have contacted me for weeks? No calls made it to my apartment, though I know I gave them the proper address and number.

While Kenta fetched the two of you, I made a number of calls. One to Billy Steele, and _seven_ to the White Council. Each time I tried to contact the Council, my call was disconnected while it travelled across the Atlantic.

Something is interfering with my attempts to contact the Council. Something, probably that same thing, is keeping the Council from contacting me. I managed to slip one call through the night of the attack, but I haven't been able to connect with them since."

Kenta's eyes widened in understanding. "Those ghouls were after you."

Flynn nodded. "This Kemmlerite has kept me from contacting the Council, has kidnapped the Warden responsible for tracking him down, and sent four heavily-armed ghouls to kill me, the only local White Council member.

The ghouls betrayed the name Vito Moreno, and that was the next trail we followed. There, we found a desiccated corpse we presume to have once been Mr. Moreno. In his hand I found an item, which I took for later examination. During the fight afterward, however, I took a blow to the head and completely forgot about it."

Delilah huffed and turned away from him, face coloring. Luciano smirked, and Kenta chuckled softly.

Flynn brought out his kerchief and opened it on the table. Kenta went silent before darting forward and staring at the small pin lying in the center of the white cloth. His eyes narrowed as he looked up at Flynn.

The inspector nodded. "When you showed me your pendants, I noticed that symbol on the center of the wheel. What does it mean?"

Kenta frowned. "It is a religious symbol. Buddhist. A symbol of good luck and eternity."

Rothstein had been staring at the symbol, and suddenly his face lit with recognition. "I've seen that before. I met a German physicist back in 1921 when he visited New York. We chatted for a while, and he mentioned a political party on the rise that used this symbol. Funny, it only came up when the Mayor 'let slip' that I was the head of the Jewish mafia." He moved to pick the pin up.

Flynn stopped him. "It also has several nasty spells attached. Touching that thing with bare skin causes instant mortification. That's what killed Vito, probably no more than an hour before we arrived. Hence why the Brit was nearby: catching us in that alley was probably just serendipity."

"This Brit, who may or may not be the 'necromicer.'" Luciano noted.

"Necromancer," Flynn corrected absently, "and no. That symbol is of a lesser-known _German_ political party. Besides, Kemmler is known to be biased against non-Germans when choosing his disciples. We don't even know for sure if our English friend truly works for the Apprentice. All of the evidence we have points to a relationship, though, so we'll assume it for now."

Luciano suddenly chuckled. "Try not to sneeze, buddy. You might knock this house of cards over."

Flynn nodded stiffly. "I would never bring this before a judge, but…" he shrugged helplessly, "it's all we have right now."

Delilah spoke up from behind Rothstein. "You mentioned you called Mr. Steele earlier. Why?"

The investigator nodded, grim smile forming again. "I was fading in and out at the time, but I remember seeing new bullet holes in his car on the way back from the farm. I called to ask him where they came from. He told me that he'd followed a dust trail leading away from the house after he dropped us off. He followed a truck away from the house, the driver of which he described as 'a fat palooka in one of those stupid hats.' Apparently, the back opened up and something large, hairy, and gray opened up on him with a Thompson. He swore he saw another, smaller figure in there, but bugged out before he could get a better look."

Everyone was silent. Then Rothstein sat down heavily and asked, "So what do we know?"

"One: the man behind all of these attacks is a German wizard apprenticed to Kemmler." Flynn began. "Two: he has in his employ several ghouls, as well as however many walking corpses he can muster. And whatever this British fellow might be. Three: he has noticed our efforts to track him and the Warden he kidnapped, and always seems to be a single step ahead of us." The inspector began pacing again. "We still don't know why he's doing this. Why New York? Why not Chicago, or D.C.?"

"Power." Kenta said simply. Flynn turned toward the shorter man and raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Rothstein and Mr. Luciano represent much of the crime in this state. This means money, and money means power."

Luciano nodded slowly. "The 'business' in Chicago isn't as concentrated. So many smaller mobs with dozens of little capos means the power is spread out. Here in New York, there's pretty much just the Genovese and Gambino famiglias. If this guy wants to take over the broads, booze, and gambling of New York, he's got more to gain here."

Wide-eyed, Flynn stared at Luciano. "Of course!" he shouted, "How much money do you make in a year, Mr. Luciano? You, Mr. Rothstein? Between the two of you, you've probably bought and paid for dozens of politicians, and whole districts worth of police." His face fell. "That's a little bit depressing, actually."

Delilah interrupted his musings again. "Very well, Mr. O'Connell. We know who, how, and why. What about when? When is he going to strike next, and what are we going to do to stop him?"

Rothstein raised a placating hand. "I don't know about all the mystical stuff, but if I tell the other capos that some foreigner is behind all of this, they'll pull together against him." His expression turned stern and proud. "We may not make an honest dollar, but we're one-hundred percent American."

"Well, that's something, at least." Flynn said. "Now, I've done a tracking spell to try and find Elizabeth using the scrap of cloth I found in the farmhouse basement." He held up the gray fabric, now wrapped around the lock of hair he'd used then. "Something is blocking me, but I can tell that she's alive, and in New York. Likely, the Apprentice is keeping her nearby. I'll keep at it; try to find out where he's hiding. Then we'll move in and hope that bullets will do the job."

"I might know another way to find him," said Delilah. Every male in the room turned and took in her thoughtful expression. The words slipped out of Flynn's mouth before he could stop them.

"And now I'm worried."

* * *

><p>Shades of Green was a little-known bar squirreled away near Marine Park in Brooklyn. To your average passer-by, the place looked run-down and unwelcoming. When Delilah spoke the password and the front door opened, however, the images inside of the speakeasy shattered that glamour.<p>

Delilah stepped briskly through the room, followed by Kenta and Flynn. Flynn glanced about the room with a raised eyebrow, taking note of the scores of tiny trees scattered throughout the room. Several young men and women wearing smiles and little else danced throughout the room, serving drinks and leading patrons onto the dance floor. More played instruments of all descriptions, filling the room with sweet music.

Kenta's eyes narrowed, and he reached out with his senses. No iron, no steel: no metal of any kind. The cutlery was intricately carved from wood, and the drinks were served in oaken tankards and mugs.

" 妖精 " the old mercenary swore. The word appeared in the air before shaping itself into a butterfly, which Flynn watched fly away. Turning to the shorter man, his incredulous expression was met by Kenta rolling his eyes. "Fae."

Flynn nodded. "I know. Summer Court." He waved toward the patrons. Kenta finally noticed that each wore the same glassy-eyed expression and cheery smile. He shuddered. "Bad memories?" Flynn guessed. Kenta remained silent.

Across the room, Delilah approached a great throne carved from the wood of the back wall. Scenes from myth and legend filled every available space on the throne: unicorn hunts, animal transformations, and lots of wood nymphs. The figures seemed to cavort and frolic across the vast surface of the throne, interrupted only by the thin man seated therein. Light was scarce in this part of the club, hiding his features.

"I greet you, Johnny Greenwood, Duke of the Summer Court." Her tone was polite and dry, displaying no emotion.

The dark figure shifted, antique clothing rustling. "And I greet you, Delilah James, daughter of Claude Raith of the White Court. Welcome to my court." The Fae Lord declared in a loud voice.

Delilah winced as every eye turned on her. By all that was still holy, she hated politics!

"I come in the name of Arnold Rothstein and of Charles Luciano. I come asking a favor, for which a favor shall be given." At this, the figure straightened and gestured. Branches grew from his throne and wrapped the two of them in a leafy dome. Delilah could no longer hear the music, and when she glanced back she could see nothing through the thick foliage. The leaves began to glow a soft green.

The figure on the throne stood and stepped forward. Soft green light illuminated handsome, chiseled features. Though he appeared thin, his figure reminded her most of a rapier readied to strike. A small smile graced his features, showing just the barest hint of gleaming teeth. The light cast his skin a verdant green hue, a pale echo of the colour in his eyes.

He raised a delicate hand and rested it on her chin, tilting her face up toward his. "Tell me your request. And sing it well, little bird. You'll find me in a poor mood for requests, this day." She shuddered. His voice reminded her of dark groves and thick vines through which no light could pierce.

She steadied herself. Opening her mouth, she relayed the tale of the past few days. She left out names as well as Flynn's theories and observations. With great care, she gave what information she needed to, and no more. She watched Greenwood's expression darken as she went on, until finally his face was set in a thunderous frown.

* * *

><p>Outside of the leafy vault, Flynn and Kenta were growing worried. Finally, Kenta swore softly and raised a hand toward the barrier. Flynn caught his hand just as a tendril whipped out, slashing across their knuckles. The investigator swore, whipping out his second handkerchief and holding it to his bleeding hand. Kenta's eyes gleamed as he held his hand up, displaying skin unblemished save for the usual wrinkles and liver spots.<p>

"We have been attacked. I will resolve this now." Without another word, Kenta made a sweeping motion with his hand, pulling a sword from his waist. Flynn blinked in confusion as he pondered just where Kenta had pulled the five-foot blade from.

* * *

><p>Greenwood's grip on her chin had tightened, and she felt her bones beginning to creak. "This is a mighty favor you ask of me, Delilah James. And you must bear the burden yourself, unless you bring your employers before me to beg for it themselves."<p>

Delilah glared into his emerald eyes unflinching. "I accept the burden." Greenwood smiled again and released her chin. A burning sensation on her left hand made her look down to notice a small mark etching itself into her palm.

Greenwood handed her a small paper flyer. "Tomorrow night, the Metropolitan Opera is holding a special show featuring one of my clients, Lawrence Tibbett. Most of the cities' capos will be arriving, and they had planned to use the opera as an excuse to meet. Think of it; every big name in this city's crime under one roof."

Delilah's eyes widened. The Fae Lord looked smug. "And now, little bird, I shall have to think of what your favor to me shall b-"

The sound of metal flying through the air interrupted him. Or it may have been the beveled steel blade-tip resting just beneath his nose.

The vines on one edge of the dome withered at the touch of steel, and a short old man stepped through. "You need to relearn courtesy, _ju tei_."

Greenwood's expression twisted in fury. "Get out of here. You have no business with me, _kaibutsu_."

The two of them argued heatedly in some language Delilah didn't know. Greenwood's tone was imperious, and carried heavy overtones of violence. Kenta, on the other hand, spoke softly and calmly. Delilah felt an extreme nervousness and impatience emanating from the old man, though.

Finally, Greenwood grumbled something and nodded. "I'll forgive it this time. Wizard O'Connell," he called in a louder tone.

Flynn stepped forward. "I apologize for the harm my barrier caused you. In the future, I trust we shall both be," the Fae Lord gritted his teeth, "more careful."

Delilah shook her head to clear it. She stepped out of the now-shrinking dome of vines and nodded to Greenwood. "Shall we discuss this discussion at another time?"

The Fae Lord waved her away and returned to his throne, glowering as the trio exited his domain.

* * *

><p>"Kenta, you do know that patience is a virtue, right?" Flynn asked as the three of them exited into the brisk September air. Delilah nodded in silent agreement.<p>

The mercenary had the grace to look embarrassed. "I am uncomfortable with _yo sei_. Even more so as I am covered in iron." Flynn 'ah'-ed in understanding. Kenta glanced to Delilah. "Did you manage to learn anything from him?"

Delilah nodded, glancing around. It was early morning, maybe four o'clock, and the sidewalks were mostly deserted. "He gave me the next target. The Metropolitan Opera House tomorrow night. Most of the city's big names will be there, including the Mayor and many of the famiglia. It is too tempting an opportunity for this necromancer to pass up."

"So it is tomorrow night?" Flynn asked. Delilah nodded an affirmative. "Then we should meet at the Ivory Tower at noon tomorrow. And yes, I'll be there this time," he said, rolling his eyes when Delilah opened her mouth. Her eyes danced with mischief, and even Kenta had a small smile.

The smiles soon disappeared, though. Each of them felt the enormity of the task they were about to undertake, and it weighed heavily on each of their minds. The three split up and headed to their respective homes, preparing to face death the next day.

A/N

Whew. I apologize for the really, really late scene. My dad underwent brain surgery and had complications, I fell ill with a stomach virus, and I had five exams in the space of a week. Oh, and I'm working with a team to design a better iron-ore pelletizer at one-fifth the market price. Hell hath a new name: Engineering College.

Anyway, here's the obligatory parlor scene. I hate writing parlor scenes, mostly because I'm no good at it. Thank God for vanilla mortals to explain things to.

You may have noticed that each of the three characters brings complements the others. This was more accidental than intentional.

Kenta is a master of combat, and represents the Power of the group. He is awkward in Western politics and conversation, however, and tends to be impulsive.

Flynn is intelligent, patient, and skilled. He represents the Intelligence of the group with his investigative skills and wizardly prowess. He is average at combat and social encounters.

Delilah is, of course, the chief of Social Kombat. She is suave, endearing, and very good at manipulating people. She is, however, terrible at combat and average at investigation and intelligence.

Thank Alkeni and Razorsmile for this update. It was their reviews and PM's that made me crawl from my bed and begin writing. At this point, the next chapter is just under 50% complete, so thank them for that, as well. Happy Thanksgiving, one and all!

PS: Shades of Green is also the name of the BEST hotel in Disney World. Traditionally, it's for US Service members, and it offers them reduced rates.


	9. Chapter 8: To All Things, A Season

A/N

Okay, I had to keep re-writing this to make it better. Certain things have been changed/left out in the interest of maintaining flow and interest.

As for the accents, I have no wish to torture either you, my faithful readers, or the English language. I left out most of them, though our English friend keeps a part of his. Imagine them for yourselves with this as your guide:

The British hit-wizard grew up in Whitechapel, London, and has a thick Cockney.

Delilah's accent is English as well, but has become very faded during her time in America.

Flynn has a gentle New England accent unless he's tired or enraged, when he dips into the Irish brogue of his youth.

Kenta learned English from a Portuguese missionary in Japan. His recent time in America has done much to improve his mastery of the language.

And finally, our Kemmlerite is from what we would today call Southern Germany. As such, his English is tinged with a Bavarian/Low-German accent.

* * *

><p>Previously on Ivory Tower:<p>

_The smiles soon disappeared, though. Each of them felt the enormity of the task they were about to undertake, and it weighed heavily on each of their minds. The three split up and headed to their respective homes, preparing to face death the next day._

* * *

><p>Ivory Tower<p>

Chapter 8: To All Things, A Season

Lawrence Mervil Tibbett's father was a part-time deputy in Bakersfield, California. When Lawrence was 7, his father died in a shootout with Jim McKinney, a local desperado. Without his father to support the family, Lawrence took to singing at funerals and church functions to earn money. At the funeral of Jonathan Reuel, a renowned painter, a thin man in very fine clothing approached Lawrence after his memorial song and made him an offer: a chance to sing at the Metropolitan Opera House in exchange for a lifetime of service. At first he refused. Then, the Great War called every able-bodied man to arms. The horrors of the War left a lasting effect on the young man, and when he came home, he tracked down Johnny Greenwood and finally accepted the offer.

Nowadays, he gave beauty to the world with his outstanding voice, incredible charisma, and immaculate musicianship. Among his fans were Joe Masseria, Charles "Lucky" Luciano, Frankie Yale, and "Papa Johnny" Torrio, the biggest names in crime from the Big Apple to the Windy City. So when his manager announced the biggest show Tibbett had ever done, the best seats in the house went not to the Senators present, nor even to the Vice-President and his wife, but to the capos of New York and Chicago.

Tibbett was slated to sing several songs made famous by his idol, Enrico Coruso, which brought all of Caruso's fans to the theatre. Tickets went from fifteen dollars to $150 in the space of one night. Luciano walked around with a broad grin all day long, listening to the sound of money rolling in from his racketeers. A crowd began forming outside of the theater promptly at six o'clock, waiting for the doors to open at seven.

* * *

><p>Outside of the Metropolitan Opera House, Flynn brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of his finest suit. In front of him stood Arnold Rothstein, putting his renowned good taste in clothing to work and every nearby man to shame. Next to the Jewish mobster stood Delilah, resplendent in a maroon evening gown. Before they had set out from the Tower, Rothstein had teased her about her dress being both too conservative and too provocative: it covered both knees and shoulders, but dipped low on her chest. Off to the side stood Kenta, still dressed in that ugly brown suit Delilah had first seen him in.<p>

Upon sighting several of his fellow 'business leaders', Rothstein turned to Flynn and Kenta. "I trust you gentlemen know what to do?" They nodded. Rothstein smiled weakly. "Good hunting, then." The two of them moved into the building, presenting their tickets and splitting up in the entryway. Shortly afterward, Rothstein lead the other capos and Delilah into the opera house.

* * *

><p>Flynn took a seat on the ground floor, trading with a young woman for a seat closer to the aisle. He smiled as the young woman moved away from her family and took his former seat next to an obviously love-struck young man. He positively beamed at the rest of her family when they glowered at him.<p>

As people continued to file in, the detective began to worry. The five tiers of balconies were filled with people, as was the vast ground floor. People packed in to see the show until all of the theatre's almost 4,000 seats were filled. The aisles and hallways were clogged with people eager to listen to the brilliant young singer. If the building were attacked now, nearly five thousand lives were at risk. And it all hinged on him finding their warlock before he could launch his latest attack.

Soon, the lights dimmed, the curtain lifted, and Lawrence Tibbett walked out onto the stage. Flynn applauded with the rest of the crowd until everyone quieted, then stretched out his magical senses as Tibbett started singing. His frustrated growl earned him a shushing from the still-irate family next to him. Leveling them with a glare, he pushed against the obscuring buzz filling his 'ears', face contorting as he tried to muscle through the interference. At the intermission, he decided to head up and check with Delilah. Maybe she had seen something he had not.

* * *

><p>Delilah was Rothstein's escort for the evening, and she spent every moment up until the curtain rose greeting the various mob-bosses and their hangers-on. Her face was fixed in a charming smile, and the sound of her voice lightened, and quickened, the hearts of all around her. When a young man from Johnny Torrio's party remarked on her dress, she shrugged and smiled demurely, remarking, "My family is quite conservative, but I like to dress to impress. We reached a compromise many years ago."<p>

Yale laughed as the young man blushed rosily, highlighting the scars on his left cheek. "You lost him when you shrugged, doll." He elbowed his fellow gangster in the ribs. "Come on Al, have a seat and tell us about your adventures in Chicago." At that moment, the lights began to dim. Everyone hurried to their seats.

Seated comfortably between Luciano and Rothstein, Delilah kept an eye on the crowd as she enjoyed Tibbett's rich baritone. In the lulls between songs she would lean over and hold whispered conversations with Rothstein and Luciano. She was most concerned with getting Rothstein out of the building. Luciano wanted to get all of the capos and underbosses out, and Rothstein himself was most concerned about the audience.

When the intermission began, Rothstein decided to break the news to Yale and Torrio. Leaving out any mention of magic, he informed the two that the man behind the recent attacks was probably going to target them here. They took the news rather well, though Yale looked more than a little suspicious. Rothstein quickly explained the basics of his investigation, and the two agreed to set aside their differences until this new threat had been dealt with.

"So what are we going to do tonight, Brain?" asked Yale, using Rothstein's well-earned nickname.

"The same thing we do every night, Frankie. Sit back and let the boys go to work." Rothstein winked at Delilah.

* * *

><p>As soon as he'd entered the building, Kenta had slipped backstage. He avoided security and stage-managers, looking for anything suspicious. So far, he had seen three scandalous celebrity liaisons, several drunken stagehands, and a rather curious assortment of desperate fans eager to meet the star of the show. He explored the ground floor thoroughly before moving into the building's basement.<p>

The old mercenary's mind began to wander as he moved from shadow to shadow. During his fifty-year exile in America, he had come to accept the Western world. The bustling streets of New York appeared very different from those of Kyoto, but they had the same basic purpose. In a similar fashion, these 'theatre shows' were little different from the ones he had so enjoyed in his past. It was both saddening, in that it reminded him of what he had lost, and fulfilling, bringing forth good memories and new experiences.

He instinctively ducked into a dark hallway as a member of the House's security walked toward him. Anticipating both the vast audience and the deluge of admirers, the Opera House had done the unthinkable: hired security off of the street. One could tell this new security force apart from the clientele both by their suits, the best of which merely looked well-worn, and by the large bulges beneath their jackets. What they lacked in gentility they made up for in efficiency: Kenta had already seen several belligerent fans thrown out the backstage door, which did much to improve the politeness of those remaining. The old mercenary watched with something like fondness as the slightly-ragged man stopped and peered around, listening for footsteps or breathing. Hearing nothing, he shrugged and trudged on, pulling a flask from his coat and uncorking it.

Kenta waited until the man had turned a corner before coming out of the darkness. He had just reached that same corner when he heard a muffled grunt. He stepped around the corner and beheld a strange scene.

The man who had just walked past had both hands wrapped firmly around his own neck. The rest of his body was utterly rigid, save for his wide eyes and gasping mouth. For a moment, the only sound was the man's strangled gasping; then, the audience above them burst into rumbling applause as Tibbett finished his latest song. Three sharp barks later and the man slumped back, bleeding profusely, bringing his murderer into view.

Tilting his bowler hat back, the murderer smirked. "Oh well," he said. "Guess I got one more mess to clean up." He gestured with the hand not holding a gun and shouted, "_Ádfýr!_" A baseball-sized splinter of white fire swept from his hand, shooting through the air into Kenta's surprised face.

* * *

><p>Flynn had just reached the balcony seats occupied by New York's most-legitimate businessmen when a small bell on a nearby wall began to ring loudly and incessantly. People stopped, confused as to what this new sound meant. 'That's one hell of a way to signal the end of the intermission,' Flynn thought.<p>

Looking out over the crowd, he saw several of the house's employees begin shepherding guests towards the exit. As he continued to ponder what this might be the signal for, a fuzzy memory emerged. Bob Eire had been reading the newspaper aloud on one of his department's many slow days, stopping on an article about "The Wizards of Menlow Park." Something about an automatic fire detector…

The detective's eyes widened as his thoughts began compounding. A fire anywhere in the theatre meant evacuating the entire building. With this many people, there would be a great deal of confusion: the perfect cover for an attack on the bosses. Glancing around, he caught sight of several individuals in identical trench-coats converging on the stairs.

The balcony had already started emptying, Rothstein and Delilah leading the exodus. Flynn ran toward them waving his arms, but stopped short as every member of the party pulled a gun and pointed it at him. Heart jumping, he still managed to level a questioning glare at Delilah, who smiled at him from behind her silver derringer.

"Flynn?" Rothstein asked hesitantly, lowering his revolver. The detective breathed a little easier as the others followed Rothstein's example. "What do you know about this alarm?"

"There are more of those gho- hit-men moving up the stairs." One of the bodyguards leaned over the edge of the balcony to get a look. A shot rang out, and he fell. The audience, almost half of which remained in the theater, began screaming and pushing toward the exit, crushing together to avoid the now-urgent danger.

Luciano turned to Johnny Torrio. "You paid for this building, right? Where's the back way?" The older mobster paused a moment, then gestured at a section of the wall. Striding up to it, he twisted a section of the paneling. "A secret door, Johnny?" Luciano asked incredulously. "Really?"

The man grinned. "I grew up on those old detective stories, Lucky." He motioned his fellow gangsters down the hidden hallway. "Besides, most of the Business these days uses secret rooms. It's a hard habit to break."

Rothstein nodded sagely as he walked in. "Every building should have a secret room. Makes a man feel important." He pulled the door shut just as the last mobster entered the hallway.

The group moved together through the narrow hallways, down several flights of stairs and up several more. They emerged from the office building opposite the Metropolitan Opera House, brushing off cobwebs and dust, already joking about their narrow escape.

Just as they emerged, a section of the Opera House went up in flames. The gangsters murmured their condolences to Johnny as they watched the fire spread.

Flynn sighed, wondering where Kenta was in all of this, when he felt a sharp tugging inside of his jacket. Looking down, he saw that the tracking focus he had keyed to Elizabeth was now pointing directly at the burning building. He looked up, horror dawning on his face as his feet began pounding pavement toward the conflagration.

Delilah gasped and turned to Rothstein. Seeing the conflict in her expression, Rothstein nodded gravely. "I'll be fine. Go take care of Mr. O'Connell." She went perfectly still for a moment, then reached up with blinding speed to land a kiss on his cheek.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, in the basement of the building, a grumbling figure walked down a burning hallway. "Can't have gotten the wizard, now could I? He could have put up a bit of a fight, at least. 'stead, I got the chap who was older than dirt and half as fast. That's just ruddy unfair, that is." To make matters worse, some new-fangled contraption had set off alarms throughout the building after he'd fried the old man. Mulling it over, he shrugged. "Boss said it didn't matter whether they were in the building or not. Just means I get a little fresh air, if the ghouls haven't already killed 'em."<p>

The sound of clinking metal alerted him to motion on his left, and he glanced down yet another burning hallway. His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.

A gleaming silver figure marched purposefully toward him, right hand poised as if to draw a sword. It stopped just shy of ten feet away, and by the flickering light of burning stone he had an unobstructed view of the figure's face.

Kenta's features were set in a deep frown. His arms, legs, and torso were covered in tiny metal scales that clinked and scraped as he shifted stances. Sweeping his right arm down slowly, he drew a blade from the armor on his side. Metal receded from his arms to fill the gap left by his sword's formation, exposing pale white flesh.

The lines on his face were deepened by the flickering shadows of the hallway as he bared his teeth in a grin. "I will share with you some wisdom from my youth: Do not underestimate a man who has lived to old age in a business where few reach thirty." He charged.

* * *

><p>Flynn burst through the front doors of the opera house, following the pull of his focus up several flights of stairs and onto the top floor. Barely a second behind him came Delilah, eyes gleaming silver as she flew up the stairs. Just as they arrived at a door with "Production Stage Manager" printed in gold letters, the focus seemed to wilt before suddenly pointing straight down. Flynn felt a burst of magical energy in the room beyond and slammed the door open, cane glowing a deep crimson.<p>

A glowing portal stood in the middle of the room next to a velvet couch. A figure in a simple black suit lounged on the couch, feeding the white-chested bird perched on his left glove. The intricate golden carvings of the couch stood in sharp contrast to the austerity of his clothing. His sparse beard was gray save for a few patches of black, and his face bore the wrinkles of many years with great dignity. Sitting up, he set his avian companion on the couch's frame before gesturing broadly.

"At last, you have found me. I would offer you what refreshments I have, but burning buildings seldom make for the best places to sit and introduce oneself." His words and tone were friendly, and his face held what appeared to be a genuine smile. The air around him was heavy with power, and it was all Flynn could do to remain standing. Delilah, strangely, seemed not to have such a mundane problem. She stepped forward.

"Then perhaps we should remain standing for the introductions, and save the reclining for later." she said coyly before extending offering her right hand. "Delilah James."

Smiling, the man stood and bowed over her hand, laying a delicate kiss on her porcelain skin. "A pleasure, my dear. I am Hugo Faustus, second apprentice to Heinrich Kemmler." His manners were perfect, his form flawless. Delilah felt a genuine smile forming as the elder necromancer straightened up.

Flynn frowned and approached the problem as years of training had taught him to. "Mr. Faustus," he began. "As a representative of the White Council and the United States government, I…" he trailed off as the older man began to laugh.

"Are you really going to tell me to, how would you say, 'come quietly'?" Faustus asked, eyes gleaming. "You are not a Warden, Wizard O'Connell, and I am not one of your petty mortal criminals."

"I see little difference between you and they, necromancer. You merely use different tools." Flynn spat.

"Little difference?" Faustus's pleasant smile fled, replaced by a frightening grimace. Delilah felt the temperature of the room drop substantially as the necromancer's voice took on a hollow, echoing tone.

"I am the Master of the Ways, the Dominus Portārum!" He shouted, raising his hands toward the ceiling.

"I have terrified your Senior Council for longer than you have been alive!

I have slaughtered dozens of you White Council lackeys and thousands of your countrymen!

I have defeated wizards twice your age with less effort than it took to clean their remains from my boots!"

The necromancer's handsome face was twisted in a fit of maniacal laughter. His power filled the room, forcing Flynn to brace himself on his cane, and sending Delilah swooning onto the couch. The sheer force of the necromancer's will knocked the breath from the wizard, and the continuing pressure ensured that he could not regain it.

"I am the supreme power in this city, you fool! And soon, I shall hand your entire country to my Master on a silver platter!" The laughter continued for several moments before being suddenly cut off. His power receded, and Flynn began gasping down great gulps of air.

The tall detective regained his footing and glanced over at Delilah. She was recovering, in part thanks to the smelling salts Faustus was waving beneath her nose. "I am very sorry about that," he said. "Sometimes the drama simply overtakes me." Smoothing his graying hair into a position, he turned back to Flynn with a smug smile.

"As a form of apology, shall I tell you where your missing Warden is?" Flynn growled and moved to rush the necromancer, but found the air itself holding him in place. Faustus' smug smile grew larger. "She is in this building's boiler room, accompanied by several of my 'associates'. If you hurry, you might actually arrive in time to watch her die."

Flynn's mind worked furiously. 'Is he lying? Why would he lie, he's holding all of the cards. If Delilah helped, could I bring him down? Would there be enough time to save Elizabeth?'

Delilah interrupted the wizard's thoughts with a simple observation. "Mr. O'Connell, is this not the man you said could quash us with little more than a thought?" Both Flynn and the necromancer turned toward her seated form. "Go do what you can, then, while I entertain our host."

Flynn hesitated for a brief moment before tearing out of the room and down the many flights of stairs toward the basement. Faustus seated himself in the chair opposite Delilah's couch, reaching for a pair of snifters and a bottle of amber liquid. Filling both, he passed one to Delilah, saying, "Armenian brandy, twenty years old." He sipped at his drink, watching her cautiously do the same.

"And now, my dear, how do you intend to entertain me?"

* * *

><p>Flynn raced down the stairs, taking them six or seven at a time. When he reached the first floor, he saw a ghoul ascending from the basement. Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to check his momentum, the wizard instead leapt into the air, delivering a flying kick to the unsuspecting ghoul's chest. The surprised creature managed to grab his foot as it tipped over backwards, and Flynn struggled to remain upright as they slid down the remaining stairs. Freeing his foot, he blasted the stunned creature with fire before turning and beginning his search for the boiler room.<p>

'Where on Earth is Kenta?' he wondered as he raced down smoke-filled hallways.

* * *

><p>"Too slow, <em>baka<em>." Kenta dodged another fireball, flowing around it to step ever closer to his attacker. Seeing this, the fat sorcerer began flinging more and more fire down the hallway, left hand clutching an empty revolver.

"Just die already! _Ad! Ad! Ádfýr!_" Two scarlet ribbons of fire burst from his hand in quick succession, followed just as quickly by another ball of white flame. This time, Kenta did not dodge. All three attacks hit him in the chest, engulfing that section of the hallway in flames.

The sorcerer fell, shaking, against the nearest wall. He could feel his heart pounding, and his vision was beginning to blur from the effort of calling forth so much energy. Dropping his empty pistol, he reached for his golden pocket-watch. He rubbed at eyes too accustomed to the recent flames, cursing when he noticed how much precious time had passed. Dropping the watch back into his breast pocket, he looked up to see eight interconnected yellow lines forming in front of Kenta, who stood unmoved and undamaged by the recent inferno.

Opening his mouth to scream in fury, the sorcerer's vision suddenly swam, and he hit the ground coughing up blood. Looking down, he saw a thin, blood-covered spike of gold protruding from his breast pocket. Drawing strength from his sudden panic, he stood and pulled a second revolver from his coat, aiming it at the advancing mercenary.

The left side of his facing drawing up into a sneer, Kenta raised his left hand and smoothly sketched sixteen blue lines in the air. By the time he finished, his opponent had already fired three times: the first bullet missed, the second deflected off of his armor in a shower of sparks, and the third caught him under his left eye. The gun exploded, and both men fell back, clutching at their faces.

The sorcerer was the first to straighten up, a line of blood oozing from the thin cut along his temple. Glancing down at his revolver, he saw that the bullet had fused with the barrel, causing a reversed explosion that snapped the hammer. Discarding the now-useless weapon, he pulled a long, wicked knife from his belt, assuming the stance of a practiced knife-fighter. He waited as Kenta straightened, left hand still covering his wrinkled face.

"A hundred years ago," the mercenary mumbled, "that would not have even stung." He removed his hand, dropping a flattened piece of lead and exposing a small, rapidly-forming ring of red. Sighing, he gestured to his opponent. "Let us finish this fight, before I get any older."

"You'll never have to worry about that ever again, old man!" The sorcerer charged in, a broad band of flame lashing forth from his right hand while his left stabbed the massive knife toward Kenta's ribs.

"Impatient," Kenta snorted, knocking the knife away with a simple twist of his own blade as he ducked under the ribbon of fire. With another sharp twist, he sent the knife skittering away. When the sorcerer snarled and pulled a third revolver out, the sword ripped through the air and sliced the firearm in two. The mercenary followed up with a knee to the larger man's jaw, sending him stumbling back, before stabbing clean through the portly man's shoulder and into the stone wall beyond. He stepped back, leaving the blade in the wound.

Eyes dimmed by pain and blood-loss, the English sorcerer glared blearily at Kenta. "You won, you bastard. Finish it!" he croaked.

Kenta seemed to consider this for a moment, but then reached into a small pouch in his armor and pulled out a small porcelain bottle. He set it to the man's lips and poured, tilting his head back to force him to drink from it. The sorcerer sputtering turned into a bellow as Kenta pulled the golden spike from his chest and the sword from his shoulder, and he slumped to the ground. After several moments, the pain subsided, and he looked down in wonder to find his wounds already closed.

"Hmph," grunted the mercenary standing over him. "I thought I saw something in your eyes, _maho tsukai_. The enchantment only works on the pure-hearted. So, why would it work on you, hn?"

The Englishman paused in the examination of his former wounds. "Purity of heart? Can't say I've ever been described like that. The only 'pure' thing I feel is pure hatred for your White Council." He bared his teeth.

Kenta frowned, but motioned for the man to continue. Seeing as Kenta had the upper hand, the sorcerer obliged.

"Was me and my sisters living together as kids. When I hit ten, my older sister found out she could do miracles: she healed the nearby sick, pulled food out of thin air for starving orphans, and made all sorts of pretty pictures in the air to go along with the stories she told us. Then one day this constable, real pig of a man, comes by and tries to get her to clear up some troubles he'd been having in his trousers. Elise refused, and he started to take her in for 'witchcraft.' She turned him into walking bacon right then and there." He chuckled darkly.

"Next day, she disappears and some bloke in grey is telling us about these seven Laws you've got to follow or else they take your head." He reached up a hand to wipe some dust out of his eyes. "They gave her back to us, told us to give her a proper burial. Even gave us some coin, so we could pay somebody else to do it."

The stout magic-user grimaced and closed his eyes. "I remember standing over my sister, looking between her head, her body, and the bint what executed her. Same tart the Boss had me kidnap for this job, actually. Stood there in front of her for maybe a minute before I smiled and said thank you. Told her, I was grateful that they'd told me what rules I couldn't break. That I would never in my life break those rules..." His mouth twisted in a feral grin. "Because one day I would kill them all, their entire sodding Council, and I would do it all while staying within the letter of their twisted little laws." He tilted his face up toward Kenta, tone mocking. "So what are you going to do now, Wizard? Going to take me in so somebody can make up some crime, shove a black bag over my head, and send me off to Hell? Or maybe you're fixing to do it yourself?"

Kenta was silent for a moment, and his face appeared more wrinkled and tired than ever. "I have never been a part of the White Council," he began, "and I certainly do not condone their actions. My only concern with you this day lay in keeping you from killing those I was hired to protect." His brow furrowed, and for the first time since the fight began he seemed unsure of what to do next. "I believe we can reach an agreement, you and I. Leave this place now, and I will make sure no one mentions you to the Council."

Silence. "Have you gone 'round the bend?" came the hysterical reply. "You'd just let me go? No oaths, no 'but if I ever see you again'? Just, 'go'?" he asked incredulously.

Kenta nodded slowly before passing over the porcelain bottle. "Just so, only take this with you. A man of pure heart who drinks this will be healed of great injury. An evil man, though, will grow sick and die." He shrugged. "Use it to make sure you stay on your path." Without another word, he turned and began walking away, pausing to transform his blade back into a section of his armor.

Behind him, the portly sorcerer gawked, looking between the bottle and the departing mercenary. "Who the hell are you?"

The old man stopped and seemed to shrink in on himself for a moment. Half-turning, he answered, "A tool fighting to become human." There was silence for a moment. Then the roof fell in.

* * *

><p>"I am impressed, my dear. You and your lackeys seem to know everything about me and my plans. You even caught on to the story of my name." Faustus chuckled as he refilled Delilah's glass. Delilah had just mentioned the theory they had put together about the necromancer seated across from her.<p>

"Oh, I don't know everything. For one, I am utterly confused as to why you kidnapped the Warden rather than simply killing her?" She said, raising her glass to him before beginning to sip from it again.

"I suppose there's no harm in telling you now." He pulled out a watch and checked the time. "I insist that everything be punctual, and we've only three minutes before the ritual is complete." Setting his own glass down, he began his story.

"I was sent to this country by my Master, Kemmler, in the hopes of gaining some control over it. He planned to use military might to force control over the capitol, but left the details up to me. I studied your country for five years before coming here, and it was then that I learned a valuable truth." He leaned back in his chair and gestured vaguely at the nearby window. "Your criminals have more power over this country's future than your politicians do. Governors, Senators, and Presidents are bought on a regular basis by the men with the deepest pockets. So, I set myself up in this city and began pushing your 'mobsters' to fight one another. Once they had exhausted themselves, I was prepared to step in and take up the reins."

Delilah nodded. This was more or less what she and the others had deduced before coming here.

Faustus took it as a signal to continue. "However brilliant my original plans were, you and yours foiled them by your intervention. I knew when my ghouls failed to kill the Council's man at your establishment that I would have to take a different approach, so I set my plans for tonight. I hid my ghouls among the crowd to send after your Mr. Rothstein and his fellows. If that failed, I sent one of my recently-acquired lackeys, an English hit-wizard," he sneered, "to kill them as they fled the theatre. And finally, if all of those failed, as they indeed have, I prepared a ritual in the basement which will incinerate this quarter of the city." He finished in a triumphant shout before glancing down at his watch again. "Ah, I keep getting caught up in the moment. We have less than a minute left. The ritual will consume the lives of every person nearby to facilitate the explosion, so I think it best if we leave."

He stood and waved his hand through the air. A sharply-defined portal appeared, and he stepped up to it. He reached a hand back to held Delilah to her feet. "I should be more than happy to take you with me, my dear." His brown eyes fell on her glinting silver orbs, and the two of them remained absolutely still for a moment. The moment was shattered when Delilah's hand darted forward and grabbed the necromancer's in a crushing grip.

"And I think I should be more than happy to take _you_ with _me_." Delilah ground out through gritted teeth. Hugo Faustus felt a flurry of confusing feelings well up in his chest, and a gasp escaped his lungs as he slowly slumped to the floor. His last sight as a mortal man was of Delilah James, her skin palest ivory and her eyes pools of quicksilver, smiling down at him.

The husk of the man who was once Hugo Faustus hit the ground, and Delilah shivered for a moment. Pleasure warred with disgust on her expression before she shrugged and began to wait for the world to erupt in flames.

A chuckle escaped her lips. "Mr. Marlowe may have been right after all."

* * *

><p>Flynn raced through the smoke, covering his mouth and nose with a kerchief. Several of the building's supports had already begun to collapse, and the ceiling above him drooped dangerously low. Finally, he spotted a room with the label, "Keep Out." In front of it stood a figure in a gray trench-coat, grasping a Thompson tightly with both hands.<p>

The detective skidded to a stop and slammed his cane into the ground. The figure immediately sank up to its neck in a puddle of viscous gray fluid that solidified back into concrete on Flynn's command. Carefully stepping over the sputtering ghoul, Flynn slammed the door open and stepped inside.

In the far corner of the room, twelve men and women in dark robes were standing in a perfect circle, chanting. Peering close, Flynn could see that each was chained in position, that their faces were tear-streaked and filled with pain. In the center of the circle lay Elizabeth, golden hair fanning out behind her head. His breath caught at the sight of her, but a deep, rumbling growl brought him back to the real world.

Between him and the circle stood five gigantic ghouls and almost a dozen obviously-dead bodies, each one carrying another Thompson. The instant he had burst in, they had turned toward him as one, and now they fired.

He flung up a hand and shouted, "Sraon!" A wall of force sprang up in front of the bullets flashing brightly as the fusillade continued. His vision began to tunnel as he concentrated on keeping the barrier up, and bullets began pinging around the room. One of them struck a pipe leading to the boiler, releasing a huge plume of steam onto his attackers. In that moment, Flynn made his decision.

Pointing his cane at the boiler, he dropped the shield and threw himself to the ground. "Brisim!" he cried. Cracks appeared in the boiler's metal shell before it exploded, sending shards of iron and plumes of steam and flame shooting through the room. The ghouls went up in smoke, while the armed corpses simply dropped lifelessly to the ground. Several chunks of shrapnel hit the sorcerers clustered in the room's corner, and the circle disappeared in a bright flash.

The detective glanced up just in time to see a piece of piping ricochet off of a nearby wall and spin into a collision course with his head. He slumped back to the ground, unconscious. The building above him began to creak ominously, and massive cracks formed in the ceiling.

The sound of footsteps soon accompanied the worrying rumble, and an old man covered in metal armor walked past. He paused, staring down at the cursing ghoul still trapped in front of the door. Looking around, he called, "Mr. O'Connell?" Stepping over the ghoul, he quickly scanned the blasted room. Seven groaning forms gathered around the remains of a magical circle, with a blonde woman lying at its center. Flynn lay just beyond the doorway, bleeding heavily from a gash on the back of his head.

Kenta paused for a moment, glancing between the unconscious wizard and the men and women chained up in the corner. His face took on a pained expression, and he swiftly reached up to pull a curved dagger from the metal on his chest. He paused for a moment, and then slammed it into his chest with a muffled yell.

Out in the hallway, the trapped ghoul began screaming incoherently as a shadow began to form above it. Swinging its neck from side to side in a senseless attempt to escape, it finally swung its head around with a sickening snap. Clouded eyes watched as Kenta carried his burdens from the collapsing theatre.

* * *

><p>When, after a full minute, the world did not explode, Delilah decided it was best to leave the building. She exited the room and leaped down the stairs into the atrium of the Opera House. The entire building was completely aflame, and she was starting to choke on the thick black smoke roiling up from the basement. Sudden motion in the smoke on the other side of the atrium drew her attention, as did the pillar slowly leaning in that direction. The White Court sped forward and slammed herself into the side of the pillar, knocking it sideways as it fell. She hit the ground, coughing, as a familiar figure stumbled from the smoke. "Mr. O'Connell!" she managed.<p>

The two ran from the creaking building, each supporting the other. They flung themselves through the entrance just as the building began its final collapse behind them. Police and firemen rushed forward and pulled them from danger zone as the Metropolitan Opera House broke down and collapsed in on itself, shooting a tremendous fireball into the night sky.

Delilah came to with Arnold Rothstein leaning over her, shouting at her to stay awake and holding her hand. She smiled weakly up at him, and he answered with a smile of relief.

Police would later report finding eight individuals on the roof of the office building next to the Opera House. None had any explanation for how they had gotten there, though most of them swore that they had been inside of the Opera House at the time of the fire.

* * *

><p>AN 2

Aaaand cut. Alright, this is almost the last chapter of Ivory Tower. We still have the epilogue to go, and there are several more stories with Delilah and Kenta and Flynn and Arnold Rothstein, but this particular adventure is almost over. Credit goes to nightphoenixchan for kicking my ass into gear on this one.

Okay, Epilogue should be out in the near future, and my next project after that is **There Will Not Be a Sequel** by popular demand. As always, please read and review: remember, I can't get better unless you guys tell me how.

Vale te!


	10. Epilogue

Previously on Ivory Tower:

_Delilah came to with Arnold Rothstein leaning over her, shouting at her to stay awake and holding her hand. She smiled weakly up at him, and he answered with a smile of relief._

_Police would later report finding eight individuals on the roof of the office building next to the Opera House. None had any explanation for how they had gotten there, though most of them swore that they had been inside of the Opera House at the time of the fire._

* * *

><p>Ivory Tower<p>

Epilogue: And What Happened After

The dawning of September 7th painted the sky a beautiful crimson, with flashes of golden cloud and blue sky reinforcing the breathtaking view. J. Edgar Hoover, stepping out of his limousine, paused for a moment to appreciate the beautiful sight. The triumphant smirk never left his face as he turned toward the dilapidated brick building on his right and marched up to the sagging door. Glancing up, he saw that above the door, where once hung the flaking, black-painted wooden letters, intricately-wrought brass now spelled out "Bureau of Investigation: Paranormal Crime Division" in broad, bold letters.

His smile fading, he had just raised a hand to knock when an old Model-T pulled up behind his limo. Turning, he watched Robert Eire stumble out of the driver's seat and walk unsteadily toward the door.

"I guess you really can show up late to your own funeral. And drunk, as well? Tut-tut, Mr. Eire." Hoover said mockingly.

"I'm not drunk, you half-wit," Eire replied irritably. "I've just been driving for twenty-four hours."

Hoover drew himself up. "Half-wit?" he hissed. "I was considering giving you an extension, purely for my amusement, but I'm afraid you've gone and upset me, Mr. Eire."

"I don't need your damn extension." Eire fired back. "I just got back from a meeting with the President. I wanted to deliver our latest report personally." He held up a folder. "I left a copy on your desk at the Department of Justice."

"Give me that!" Hoover snatched the folder from Eire's unresisting grip and began flipping through the file within. "Foreign criminals, German political parties, a cult planning on setting fire to the Metropolitan Opera House…" he flipped to the last page. "The only things you left out were the leprechauns and the unicorns."

"If you'd actually read the files I sent you, you would know that we dealt with those two last year."

Face rapidly reddening, Hoover began shouting. "I asked you for a viable case, you senile old fool! Not a fantasy novel! I'll have your ass for this, you skirt-wearing son of a –ah, achoo!" He sneezed loudly. Hearing a meow, he looked down at the small gray kitten winding between his legs.

"I –achoo- hate cats!" he pulled back his leg and kicked out at the tiny cat. The moment it impacted, there was a sickening snap, and Hoover began hopping up and down, clutching his foot. The small kitten, completely unperturbed, glanced up at him and opened its mouth.

A thunderous roar ringing in his ears, the Director of the FBI staggered over to his car and clambered into the back, screaming at his driver. Eire bent over to pick up the kitten, using the purring creature's paw to wave goodbye. "Good job, Jinxie." He turned and walked into his Department, muttering, "It's not a skirt, it's a kilt, you nancy-boy."

* * *

><p>In a sterile white room, a short man sat and fiddled with his black bowler hat. Across the room, stretched out on a narrow bed, a young woman slumbered peacefully. Suddenly, she awoke, glancing around with a frightened expression.<p>

The man with the bowler hat stood up and stepped toward her, hands raised placatingly. "It's alright, sis. You're safe."

Eyes wide, the young woman stuttered out, "I-i-is he g-gone?"

"Faustus is gone, Sara. We're finally safe." The two collapsed on the bed together, hugging one another and weeping.

* * *

><p>"Mr. O'Connell, kindly stay in bed. I don't want you hurting yourself."<p>

"I'm fine, Delilah. Look, I've completely reco – whoa."

"As I said, Mr. O'Connell." Delilah helped the bandaged wizard back into her bed.

Flynn cleared his throat. "I appreciate you opening your home to me, Delilah. I didn't expect Faustus to bother sending minions to ransack my home. Hopefully I can return tonight and set up my wards again." He sighed and muttered, "Spiteful son of a…"he paused, looking up at her. "…woman of negotiable affection," he finished.

Delilah shrugged, rolling her eyes. "It was my pleasure, Mr. O'Connell." She paused. "There was one thing I wanted to ask you about. A wizard matter." Flynn motioned her to continue. "When I locked eyes with Mr. Faustus, I saw…things. Scenes from his life, I think."

The wizard's eyes widened. Finding his voice, he stuttered out, "You…you soulgazed one of Kemmler's apprentices?"

"Soulgaze?" Delilah asked, tilting her head to the side quizzically.

Flynn drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "When you make eye contact with a wizard, or most other practitioners, you get a glimpse of their soul, their self. Sometimes, they're images. Sometimes, they're more impressions or feelings. For someone as warped as Hugo Faustus…I can't begin to imagine what you saw."

The lovely redhead went absolutely still for a moment before suddenly sitting on the edge of the bed. "It was disconcerting, to say the least." She brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "This, soulgazing? Is it only the initiator who sees a soul?"

The investigator shook his head firmly. "No, the other person sees your soul at the same time you see theirs." He stared resolutely down at his hands until a firm grip on his chin pulled his gaze upward.

"Truly?" Delilah breathed, seeking and capturing his gaze.

The two stared, entranced by the scenes behind each other's eyes, until Flynn violently pulled back. Blinking, he looked back at Delilah in a new light. "Victorian? As a White Court?"

"It wasn't a fun period for most of The Family. I happen to have enjoyed it." She shrugged elegantly. "Now, what about that man in the straitjacket? Who was he?" she asked intently.

Flynn flinched. "I don't want to talk about it." Delilah nodded in understanding, and the two began to speak on more pleasant topics.

* * *

><p>On another side of town, on a nearly-empty street surrounded by abandoned warehouses, an old, disheveled man slumped against a wall. Breathing heavily, he pushed open a nearby door and stumbled inside and toward a small square of metal at the center of the warehouse. Concentrating for a moment, he sketched a quick symbol in the air, and the square of metal began slowly, but silently, sliding to the side. He dropped into the darkness beyond, and landed with a loud 'clink' followed by a contented sigh. The metal square began sliding back into place as a single candle lit, illuminating a silk tapestry covered in the image of a vast, snow-capped mountain.<p>

"Would you be proud of me, obaa-sama?"

* * *

><p>One week later, Arnold Rothstein called his three champions together in his office. Delilah arrived first, followed shortly by Flynn and Kenta, who were chatting amicably as they walked in together.<p>

Rothstein cleared his throat. "I very much appreciate what all of you have done for me," he began, "and I have taken the liberty of putting together some gifts for you." He reached beneath his desk and pulled out a beautifully-adorned curved blade. Taking great care not to touch the blade, he passed the blade over to the mercenary.

"Kenta, I found this in an antique store owned by a good friend of mine. He told me it was the blade of a great military leader of centuries ago, Yoshikazu Ashikaga." He pronounced the foreign name carefully.

Kenta's eyes widened, and a small, grim smile worked its way onto his lips. "Yoshikazu-chan, hm?" He examined the blade, passing over the length of the blade, skin barely a centimeter above the metal. The smirk widened. "He ordered me to commit seppuku on his nineteenth birthday." Seeing everyone's confused stares, he elaborated. "He was very drunk. He ordered me to commit suicide over an imagined dishonor."

Rothstein blinked. "And you refused."

"No. I complied." Everyone stared, but he seemed to have run out of words.

Flynn shook himself. Looking to Rothstein, he quipped, "And I thought my grandfather was a funny old man."

Everyone laughed, including the funny old man. Rothstein then turned to Flynn. "I have no gift for you, Flynn. I'm sorry, I just didn't know what you'd want."

The detective leaned back with a beatific smile. "There is no need, Mr. Rothstein. You've already given me a great gift. Paranormal Division thanks you for your assistance."

"Always happy to help an old friend," the mobster said, grinning.

Finally, he turned to Delilah. "And finally, Delilah, I have one final gift."

Delilah waved a hand, saying, "I do not need anything, Mr. Rothstein. I am happy to simply run the Ivory Tower for you."

Rothstein nodded. "I had a feeling you'd say that. Which is why I have decided to give you what you really want.

The Ivory Tower is yours."

* * *

><p>AN

And there we have it. It's been a fun ride, and I'm happy to say that the saga continues. We'll get to that soon, so for now please read over this tale and let me know how to improve.

So we're done for now, except for one thing…

Omake

Explanation of Magic: Episode 1

Flynn O'Connell

Flynn was raised in a society slowly being dragged into the modern world. His parents held onto the old ways, which influenced his magical education.

His rituals are vaguely druidic, calling on the spirits of those past as well as the elemental spirits themselves to aid him. He must make a sacrifice for each ritual, usually a general sacrifice of blood or a specific request for a specific spirit. So long as he doesn't call upon them often, they will usually answer the call and respond to his sacrifice. The language he uses for his rituals is an older form of Gaelic.

His evocations, on the other hand, come from the Hermetic tradition. His mentor, an English wizard of the White Council, taught him Latin as well as the basics of evocation. He specializes in working fire, earth, force, and spirit. The language he uses for his fire and earth evocations is Latin, though he uses Gaelic for most of his spirit and force evocations.

Flynn prefers preparation to power, though he truly is quite powerful. He refuses to become a Warden due to a poor encounter with them during his youth. His signature attack is the Quicksand Cage he used to trap the ghoul guarding the boiler room.


	11. References, Obscure and Otherwise

A/N

There have been some complaints about the obscurity of both jokes and references. Therefore, this section is devoted to an explanation of the various historical references, nerd-references, foreign languages, and jokes used in the Ivory Tower. A lot will go unexplained until later stories, however, so consider yourselves warned. All thanks go to Quantum Witch for inspiring this section and its format.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The quote:

Mark Twain wrote this for the wife of then-President Rutherford B. Hayes 1881. Mrs. Hayes then went on to become one of the great champions for Prohibition in the United States. As Prohibition is the backdrop for this entire story, I figured a little wisdom from Twain would be a good place to start.

The Fitzgeralds:

F. Scott Fitzgerald, American author and party-goer, was famous for staying out late at night and living the high life. His wife, Zelda, was the life of any party, and often got them thrown out for her drunken antics.

The Thompson:

Known alternatively as the Chicago Typewriter, the Thommy gun, the Thompson, or the Trench Sweeper, the Thompson submachine-gun is the iconic weapon of mobsters throughout the twentieth century.

**Chapter 1**

Frankie Yale:

One of the iconic mobsters of early Prohibition, Yale was the mentor and leader for the more-famous generation of mobsters to come. He died in 1928 to the Thompson's first big appearance in gang warfare.

Arnold Rothstein:

Nicknamed "the Brain", Rothstein revolutionized organized crime by actually organizing it. Among the first to capitalize on Prohibition, Rothstein made millions. He remains known as the smartest, and sharpest-dressed, man in criminal history.

Charles Luciano:

Known far and wide as "Lucky" Luciano, this man eventually rose to become the most powerful gangster of 30's, 40's, and 50's. He earned the moniker "Lucky" first through his gambling abilities, and later by surviving a rather terrifying ordeal involving a knife, a beach, and a near-death experience.

Mr. Berlinger:

A Jewish baker living in New York City, Mr. Berlinger was a friend of Arnold Rothstein in the same way the rest of the Jewish community was. When he heard of Rothstein's death years later, Berlinger's son Milton Berle, one of America's most famous comedians, reportedly went on stage and gave his finest performance ever in Rothstein's memory.

$1000 in 1926:

$1000 dollars in 1926 was the equivalent of $12,250 today. It's Kenta's standing rate, and one of the reasons he is so rarely hired.

J. Edgar Hoover:

Hoover became the sixth Head of the Bureau of Investigation a few years before the story takes place, and he held that office for decades. Reportedly a right bastard of a man, Hoover's questionable practices are the reason FBI directors may only hold that duty for ten years, maximum.

BI PCD:

The Paranormal Crime Division actually existed under various names within the FBI for many years. For those of you who caught the Hellboy reference, we'll be getting to that later…

Police Raids:

The police often had unannounced 'visits' to businesses suspected of selling alcohol. Remember, this is a time before many of the protections Americans enjoy today: businesses were often broken into, sacked, and searched for anything alcoholic. More often than not, though, the officers involved in the raid had been bribed to find 'nothing' and to give warning prior to raids.

**Chapter 2**

Milk:

The upper-class speakeasies served alcohol often and without restraint. In case of a surprise raid, therefore, they had incredibly-complex methods of disguising their illicit activities. Hidden rooms, secret switches, and the occasional raid-drill with the customers meant that few of these speakeasies were ever found out.

1425 sakē:

Sakē over ten years old generally requires yearly turning to avoid becoming vinegar. That would imply that this particular bottle has been given a ridiculous amount of attention for over 20 generations. Of course, you may have noticed that there was something odd about that bottle: examine the myth of the Shōjō for a full explanation of where Kenta received the alcohol.

**Chapter 3**

Exploding guns:

Kenta's method for destroying guns takes advantage of their metal components: he causes the bullets to fuse to the barrel. In Thompsons, this can cause a rather vicious backlash when the force of the bullet's propellant has nowhere to go. Modern guns can, for the most part, redistribute the stress better than the older varieties.

E. McCoy:

For you Dresden Files fans out there, this is exactly who you think it is.

**Chapter 4**

The quarter:

The Standing Liberty quarter. The setup was a little different, hence "In God We Trust" being printed through the middle instead of along the bottom, and the quarter itself was mostly silver with a little copper.

Flynn's Spells:

Our Irish Wizard, as you'll be able to see in the Epilogue, does most of his spells in Irish Gaelic. Here, he's using a simple 'fly' and 'descend' combination.

'Dead' Kenta:

Kenta wears metal armor up to his neck. The hint was that he was both unmoving and _cold_. He wouldn't cool off that quickly upon dying, especially wearing that thick coat.

**Chapter 5**

The title:

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "to talk of many things: of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and Kings." I figured this Alice in Wonderland quote would set a good tone for the chapter. After the ghouls, there isn't really much beside a lot of talking on various topics.

Kenta's Training:

Takachiho-gawara housed a shrine until around AD 800, and was the site where Amaterasu's grandson came to Earth (eventually, his line would become the Emperors of Japan).

Izumo-taisha was a shrine built around AD 900 and dedicated to Okuninushi, Shinto deity of marriage and the creation of nations.

Horyu-ji was a Buddhist temple first built in AD 611, but burned down (maybe) in 670. When it was rebuilt on a different site in 711, it fell into disrepair and remained un-visited. Its first major revival occurred in 1374, when it was repaired, refurbished, and renewed.

**Chapter 6**

Steele Industries:

An homage to a character from Spirit of the Century, Billy Steele is Howard Hughes with class. We'll be seeing a lot more of Billy later.

Flynn's Spells:

The 'Finding' spell uses three potent sources of emotion as power, and creates a super-powerful focus capable of lasting for weeks and searching across hundreds of miles. Infernus is exactly what it says on the tin.

**Chapter 7**

What is Kenta?:

Complicated. Of the several dozen guesses received, none have been correct. Keep guessing!

The symbol:

Alright, you all know what it is. The Nazi party used the swastika as their symbol after it experienced a sudden rise in popularity in the Western world. Originally, it was a Hindu/Buddhist/Jainist symbol of good-luck and eternity.

Kenta's swearing:

Basically, he merely said "fairies" in Japanese. The magic endemic to the speakeasy, however, formed the word into physical being and made it flutter away. This in no way signals anything about Kenta's backgrond. At all…

Greenwood/Kenta:

The two are ancient, simple as that. _ Kaibutsu_ is, roughly translated, monster. _Ju tei_…I'll let you guys figure that out. Delilah felt Kenta's nerves because the old man knew he couldn't win in a fight with the Fae: but Greenwood didn't know that.

**Chapter 8**

Lawrence Tibbett:

A real-life person, L.M. Tibbett was one of the finest singers and performers to ever grace the Metropolitan Opera.

"Al":

Yes, it's young Al Capone, here to visit old friends in New York. Many of the men he is sitting with were his mentors and teachers in the way of the Mafia, and the bodyguard who got shot was the man who gave him his iconic facial scarring, Frank Galluccio.

Frankie and Brain:

God help me, I had to do this joke. For those of you who missed it, it's a "Pinky and the Brain" reference.

Secret Rooms:

Talk to any New Yorker interested in the history of their city, and they'll be able to tell you of at least three locations with secret rooms or hidden hallways.

Hugo Faustus:

The 'inspiration' for the play _Doctor Faustus_, in which a man of science falls into magic and necromancy. The "Mr. Marlowe" reference Delilah makes refers to Christopher Marlowe, who took the German tale of Faust and turned it into his own play. In that reference, Delilah is referring to herself as the devil that drags Faust into hell.

Faustus' Death:

He's a bloody necromancer: they're like weeds, they just keep coming back. He died because he underestimated Delilah and thought her to be a gifted mortal, not a White Court. His mistake, and he'll learn from it in case he comes back later. Heh.

British Hit-Wizard: 

Seriously, we never gave the man a name. Alright, his magical specialties are fire and electricity: I'll give further explanation of him in a later chapter. As for the 'pure of heart' thing, that phrase can mean a whole lot of things. You can figure it out, I'm sure.

**Epilogue**

Sara: Our British sorcerer's other sister, who was kidnapped by Faustus as leverage, was saved along with the other practitioners, Flynn, and Elizabeth.

The Soulgazes: If you really want, I'll describe what they saw later. They'll come up in later story arcs, anyway.

Kenta's Home: Pretty much just an excavated cave surrounded by steel walls, hidden underneath an old warehouse.

The Tower: The Ivory Tower now belongs to Delilah, and will be the base for continued adventures.

A/N 2

If there are any further questions, please do not hesitate to ask via PM or review. I apologize, but I will not be posting much more until around Christmas due to finals and travelling. Vale te!


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